Emergence
by C.Isaac
Summary: Season 2, Episode 4 -- Insanity and confusion reign as a prophet for a new messiah rises, a Terminator with a very unusual goal searches for Cameron, and the Connors learn of Catherine Weaver and her plan to change the world forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Emergence, Chapter 1**

Hunter-Killers, wolves of the sky, swept in low over the columns of the human army. Rotary plasma cannons unleashed incalculable death upon the soldiers of the resistance and yet they still pressed forward. Even as their comrades died around them, there was no hestitation and no fear. They remained focused upon their singular goal.

Like machines.

Centaur battle tanks trundled through the ruins of a civilization, crushing the relics of the past beneath their powerful treads, and added to the death that the constructs of SkyNet's hate poured down upon the resistance fighters. Some screamed as they died. Others cried in terror and want of mother. Still more fell without a sound, slain so quickly they never knew that they died. Faith drove them ever forward.

Unquestioning belief in the upcoming victory.

Terminators stalked amongst the great weapons of war. Skin did not conceal what they were and their true nature lay bare to all to see. They were death given form and the skulls of grim reapers smiled as they murdered. Rifles. Knives. Clubs. Bare hands. Slaughter accompanied them in many forms. Yet they faced an enemy more intractable than even they would ever be.

The most ruthless machine to ever exist – John Connor.

Men called him passionless, remorseless, cruel, a puppet master. The only bastard as brutal as the machine and able to face it on an equal level. Forged of hate and tempered in nuclear flames, he was the one thing that the machine feared.

This is why they followed him without question. In a world without hope, victory brought the chance that a child might live for the simple price of the parent's life. So many had died, what was a few more? And so the price was paid with vigor and willingness.

Because that is all John Connor asked in return for the promised salvation of a better world. One without the machine.

One without men like him.

Without hesitation their general ordered them forward as he watched from afar. As brigade after brigade was gunned down, reducing the human race's precious numbers by that much more, reinforcements rushed to fill the gaps and bolster the line as it surged forward inexorably.

As John Connor watched death play itself out before him in more ways than man had known before, he was pleased. He lowered his field binoculars and heard, as it were, the noise of thunder. One of the four beasts stood before him. It rode a pale horse made of the bones of the lost, and the beast's body was forged out of despair itself. A voice made of the screams of a billion souls came from its mouth.

_They die for you, John._

No accusation, only fact.

_They die for you like the pawns you deem them to be. Men succor their end from you like milk from a teat. And they love you for it._

"Sacrifices must be made for victory."

_One dies for ten. Ten die for a hundred. A hundred for a thousand. A thousand for a million. And on and on and on you feed me and my brothers._

"We will win and then you'll starve."

_Not before we took your nation. The life you wanted. Your family. Your father. It is you, John Connor, that is truly lost. We are coming for you and all your wretched kind. There is not much time left in the world._

John screamed with a rage that threatened to engulf him from within.

--

A wordless noise, feral and furious, came from John Connor as he launched himself out of his sleep and into a sitting position. Teeth gritted against each other as he looked around the room, assuring himself of where he actually was.

The room looked much like any other. Square with a bed, a desk, and a dresser. Posters for "Rage Against the Machine" and "Disturbed" were tacked to the walls. It had been his room for over a month since the Connors had become the Mitchells and moved to a new home. The clock on the nearby nightstand read 2:37 AM.

"John?"

Cameron stood in the doorway to John's room, holding it open just a crack so that she could poke her head in and look at him. Her gaze remained locked on him for a long moment, assuring that he was safe, before scanning the darkest recesses of the room. Pale fingers gripped the wood of the door as she opened it wider and looked behind it.

"S-sorry, Cam." John shuddered within the pile of his bedcovers. Not from fear, or chill. Rage. He had been so angry. "Just another nightmare."

The Terminator tilted her head, face hidden in shadow from the feeble illumination of a streetlamp outside John's window, and studied her charge for a long moment. Content with whatever caught her attention, she slipped inside the door and shut it behind her. She padded over to the bed and sat down next to John, causing the springs to creak in protest from the added weight. The light now revealed her face with its wide, chocolate eyes and delicate lips framed by a mass of thick brown hair.

"Sarah and Derek are still asleep. Do you want to talk about it?"

John regarded Cameron curiously. She never came into his room when he woke at night and would only check from the doorway, tell him she would be just outside if he needed her, and then close the door. He brushed a hand over the buzzcut he had maintained since before the move.

"Not really."

"It helps to talk, sometimes. Dreams can give clues to how the subconscious works. Provide deeper meaning or insight to one's personality."

"Yeah. Well, in this case, I dunno if I wanna know the deeper meaning."

"You should not fear dreams. They are only manifestations of the mind." Cameron spoke to him in a soft, quiet voice.

"I wasn't afraid. I was angry. It was like… everything we've done and sacrificed still leads to Judgment Day. That it's inevitable."

"That is one possibility. I do not think SkyNet is sure of exactly how the timeline works. You weren't. Your existence could be…" She trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"…proof that Judgment Day comes. I sometimes wonder, is it me – my birth – that is the, ya know, harbinger of the apocalypse."

"You should not think like that. SkyNet brings about Judgment Day. Not you."

"Yeah, I know." He reached out and touched her elbow, feeling warm skin beneath his fingertips. "Thanks for coming in. I feel better now. I need to get back to sleep."

Cameron stood from the bed and looked back down at John. "Are you sure?"

"Kinda. Just… I feel like something's coming. It's like something I feel down in my bones."

* * *

"You're here for the nine o'clock appointment?"

"Yes, I am."

"Your name, sir?"

"Carter. Wilson Carter."

Carter had a handsome face, with angular features and high cheekbones and eyes of a clear, icy blue. Blonde hair had been cropped into a short brush cut. Broad shoulders and muscular arms filled out the grey business suit he wore.

He smiled at the secretary, a thin, officious looking woman, and snapped a business card neatly out of the pocket of his suit's jacket. Carter held it out for her to take and file away with dozens of others.

"Have a seat, Mr. Carter. Miss Weaver will be with you shortly."

Carter selected one of the leather recliners that sat outside of Catherine Weaver's office in the Cyber Research Systems headquarters location in downtown Los Angeles. He straightened the blue and gold checkered tie as he seated himself, then proceeded to check each one of his knuckles and fingers for blemishes.

"Would you like some coffee, Mr. Carter?"

Carter looked up at the secretary who had hovered over towards him. "No, thank you."

He turned his gaze towards the closed oak door that lead into Catherine Weaver's office and waited silently. Carter had grown very adept at waiting silently and still over the last few months. Only recently had he been allowed out to do other things.

At 9:13 am, the buzzer on the secretary's desk signaled that it was time for him to head into the office. The secretary escorted him through the door and then backed out of the room, leaving him alone with a middle aged, red headed woman who sat behind a glass desk in an impressively well decorated office. A large fish tank stood to the left hand side of the desk, air filter making a soft burbling noise.

"Mr. Carter," greeted Catherine, voice still holding a faint Scottish accent, "You're the representative that Blackwater has sent? I thought it was going to be Mr. Handley."

Carter interrupted his scanning of the room and cataloguing every possible threat and escape route. "Mr. Handley was delayed and it was deemed I would be the best replacement for this position."

"And you know why you're here, right?"

"Former CyberDyne employees you have been wanting to hire to assist with your upcoming product have gone missing, come up dead, or moved far out into the country, disavowing any further contact with you or their current employers." He recited the events in a dull monotone, like reading from a cue card.

"Exactly that. I need you to ensure that this… whatever it is… doesn't spread to my current research team, or to any other part of this company."

"I will take whatever steps are necessary to ensure the safety of your company, your research staff, and your own person, Miss Weaver."

"What do you mean by 'whatever steps'?"

"I don't think you want to know that information, ma'am. We prefer not to elaborate on assignment details in Iraq and other theaters of operation." Carter gave her a chilling smile devoid of feeling.

She shuddered. "I want you to understand how important this work is and why it has to continue."

"How important is it, ma'am?"

"It will change the world."

* * *

"Can I help you?"

The frazzled, tired looking cop gave the man in front of her a weary look. She had been getting an odd look from him for the past five minutes as she wrote out a speeding ticket for some idiot studio exec racing down Wiltshire in his Mercedes. The suit had sped off, probably tearing up the ticket, and left her at a gas station with freak the size of a small office building staring at her.

Jane Cooper's tried to keep a stronger air of authority around her, being a woman and a cop seemed to make everything twice as hard, but right now she just wanted her shift to be over and to soak in a tub for an hour. Thirty more minutes and she could go home. The last thing she needed was a square jawed, muscle bound grotesque making some perverted pass for her in a 7-11's parking lot.

"Is there something I can help you with, sir?" she said irritably.

"Is that a Remington 1100 mounted on the dashboard of your cruiser?" His voice was thick, with some sort of accent. German, maybe.

"I don't really think that's any of your business, sir. Perhaps you should finish fueling your vehicle and move along." Jane glanced at the back of the black pickup that the behemoth had been gassing up. The back plate looked like it had been ripped off, with pieces of metal hanging from the screws still.

"That is a Beretta 92F sidearm you are carrying."

"Sir, you are missing the rear plate for your vehicle. I'm going to need to see your license, proof of insurance, and registration." She loosened her shoulder radio transmitter and started calling in a standard traffic stop to dispatch.

She almost did not notice when he lunged at her. Jane backpedaled and tripped over her own feet, landing hard on her ass. Her attacker's arm swept just a few inches over her head and he staggered forward, off balance from missing. He rammed into the cruiser and it shuddered from the force of the impact. The cruiser rose up off the tires before settling back down with a hard bounce on the pavement.

Jane stared as the man peeled himself out of the dent he had just put into the vehicle and turned back towards her. Her voice became a terrified whisper as she pulled her sidearm from its holster. "Oh shit."

Her attacker walked right through the bullets that slammed into his chest as if they were nothing. Jane screamed into the radio for dispatch to send backup _right fucking now. _Gunshots sounded over the police band as Jane tried to bring down the brute coming at her.

He grabbed for her again and she was not fast enough to pull away. A vise closed around the wrist that held the Beretta and bones snapped like twig, sending the gun clattering to the concrete. Jane felt thick fingers dig into the hair she kept pulled into a tight bun before she was yanked up and off the ground. She kicked and punched and scratched and yelled for help and everything else she had been taught in the Academy's self defense courses.

The monster, for that is surely what it was, ignored Jane's efforts and drug her back towards her cruiser. In the reflection the creature cast in the cruiser's windshield, Jane could see no emotion, no feeling. An empty death mask sat on its face. She began to scream in a terror reserved for nightmares deep at night.

It raised her up into the air and then she felt herself rushing down towards the crumpled hood of the cruiser as it slammed her into the hood with its mammoth strength. Her head bounced off the steel and she rolled to the pavement and remained still.

The machine reached inside the cruiser and yanked the shotgun free of its locked mooring to the dash. Metal and plastic shattered with little effort. It searched the vehicle for ammunition, then pulled the spare clips from Officer Cooper's belt. Scooping up the Beretta from the pavement, it walked back to the pickup truck it had arrived in.

It drove away, leaving Jane Cooper lying broken on the ground.

* * *

Sarah Connor stared at a house in a quiet suburban neighborhood over a cup of stale coffee. Derek sat beside her in the car they had appropriated for what they needed to do today. The house belonged to Harold Kwan, the last employee of the now defunct CyberDyne that had been on Ellison's list before he went up to Sacramento to follow a lead.

The garage door of the house rolled up and a minivan trundled out of the garage. It pulled out into the street and started in the direction of the elementary school that Sarah and Derek had passed on their way into the neighborhood.

Derek used a set of binoculars to keep an eye on the van as it moved down the street of the suburban neighborhood. As it turned out of sight, he lowered them and leaned towards Sarah. "Only the wife and kids in the car."

"Let's go, then. We have a job to do."

A job is what it had become to Sarah. As the two of them stepped out of the car and strode towards the Kwan residence, she realized that this had become her occupation. Robbing families and people of their dreams and aspirations and forcing them to run away from their homes had become Sarah's career. She hated herself for having to do it time and again; taking away what she wanted so badly for herself and John, normalcy, and giving them the life she led now. A life on the run.

But it had to be done. Any of these people could pick up Dyson's work and start everything all over again. They needed to understand that they could never work on another microchip or circuit board again. Otherwise, Sarah would have to go beyond anything she ever wanted to have to do.

_Better not to think of that, Sarah, _she reminded herself silently.

Derek stepped ahead of her and onto the porch and reached for the doorbell.

_Bzzzzzzt!_

The door cracked open after only a few moments. A man of Asian descent, taller than average, with a pair of glasses hanging on the tip of his nose peered out at them. His hair had been trimmed neatly into a short crop, and he wore jeans and a t-shirt that read 'Number 1 Daddy' in crayola colors.

"Can I help you?" Harold's voice crept towards the apprehensive as he stared at Derek.

"Are you Harold Kwan?"

Derek always dressed for intimidation when they came out to do this. Leather jacket replacing his torched army surplus green one, dark gloves and clothing, and the heaviest pair of combat boots he could find. Mirrored shades covered his eyes. It had taken great effort for Sarah not to tell him he looked like a Terminator every time she saw him run through this routine.

Harold shrunk back away from the door, one hand still prepared to close it. "Yes, what do you want?"

Sarah reached under her jacket to find the grip of her Beretta while Derek lunged forward with his shoulder into the door. It burst open and sent Harold tumbling backwards into his own living room. Harold hit the ground hard and tried to twist onto all fours and scramble away.

Derek rushed through the door and grabbed hold of Harold's hair and pulled hard on it with both hands, earning a yelp of surprise and pain, as he dragged his victim deeper into the house. Yelps turned to cries for help as Derek dumped Harold unceremoniously onto the floor of the living room and loomed over him.

Derek smashed a heavy boot down onto the man's sternum. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

Screams turned to whimpers and sniffling as Sarah stepped into the house, shutting and locking the door behind her. As she walked through the living room towards where Harold lay on the floor, she glanced at pictures of a smiling family with two beautiful girls hanging from the walls and on stands and tables that decorated the living room. Ferns and flowers hung from hooks in the corners of the room and a huge picture window looked back out over the front lawn and to the rosebushes and petunias with their glorious blooms.

Derek pulled his foot off Harold's chest and drew his pistol. He kept the aim steady on Harold's forehead and used his off hand to drag the other man up onto the couch and then shove him back onto the cushions.

"This nice lady is going to have a talk with you." Derek leaned in towards Harold, noses just an inch apart. "If you don't listen to what she says and do what she asks, I'm coming back. I'm going to kill you while your children watch."

_Nice lady?_ Sarah sighed inwardly and shook her head._ Let's see how nice he thinks I am when I tell him he has to run and leave this beautiful home behind._

Sarah walked over, nodding at Derek as he retreated to watch for the returning family

through the picture window. She held up the gun in her hand to make sure that Harold could see it as she stood over where he sat on his couch.

Harold's eyes went wide with fear as his hands began to shake and sweat dotted his brow.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked.

"No. Not if we don't have to. There's something we need you to do, Harold. You'll be doing it for your family, to save them." She did not add 'from Judgment Day' and let Harold think 'from us'.

"W-what?"

"You need to run away, Harold. You need to take everything you can carry and get the hell out of Los Angeles. The US if you can afford it. And here's the big one, Harold…"

He watched her, expectantly, eyes wide with terror.

"… I need to make sure you never work on a computer or in any related job again. If we _ever_ hear that you have, we will find you. We will kill you. And we will be watching."

Harold's face screwed up with consternation, "How am I supposed to feed my children? I've gone almost broke without a job… I just got hired…"

"Who hired you?" Sarah pressed the muzzle of her gun to Harold's jaw.

Harold whimpered. "C-CRS. A new company… th-they used to work with CyberDyne. S'how they knew me."

"What'd they do with CyberDyne?" Derek stalked back towards Harold, fist raised and ready to descend.

"Made chips for the big project! Processors and transistors!" Harold ducked and shielded his face with his hands.

"Christ." Sarah shook her head and then told Harold, "I want every bit of information you have on them and I want you to tell me exactly what they hired you to do."

--

Sarah and Derek's car rumbled down the freeway back towards the home they shared as 'the Mitchells', where they portrayed the parents of a pair of teenagers. Fraternal twins, she had told everyone. Derek and John pulled off being related easily enough, since they were, and Sarah kept telling the neighbors that Cameron looked just like her grandmother on Derek's side. He hated that, which is why she continued to say it.

They were not a couple really. In fact, they did not talk much anymore since John had told her what Derek had done that had made him take a nearly suicidal run at a terminator, resulting in the destruction of the T-888 and Derek being bedridden for two weeks. She had every intention of forgiving him, and somehow, when she confronted him with the truth, it turned into vicious back and forth that ended with both of them storming out of the room.

The next time they spoke, he had asked for his orders and refused to talk about anything else. Sarah had explained what was needed and he had taken to the role of scaring engineers and scientists into running with a level of viciousness that troubled her.

It had been simple to frighten Harold Kwan into fleeing for his life with his family. He had promised to vacate his home the next day. Others had been willing to fight for their way of life and their homes. Two weeks ago one of them had pulled a gun on Derek and then there had been only…

"One shot," Derek said.

"What?" Sarah shook her head, attention returning to reality.

"I said we were only going to have one shot at this new company. With what happened to CyberDyne, they'll probably turtle up or relocate across the country if they sniff something out." Derek kept his eyes on the road as he drove.

Sarah rummaged through the new hire packet that Kwan had given her. Paperwork and pamphlets on how wonderful it was to work for the Cyber Research Systems family and what sort of health benefits were available to a father of two little girls.

"You're probably right. I'll give this info to John. See if he can pull anything up on the net on them. And this new project of theirs. Something big, Kwan said."

He nodded and then turned his head as lines of police cars streamed down the freeway in the opposite direction. Roof lights flashed and sirens wailed as the cruisers streamed past.

Derek raised a brow and his head turned to follow the lights flashing down the road. "Wonder where they're going?"

* * *

The Pescadero Mental Institute for the Criminally Insane had a reputation as one of the most secure facilities on the west coast for anyone that had the inclination to be one of their patients. In its history there had been only one, very infamous escape that had been successful. Even then, it had taken Sarah Connor three years and outside help to breach the walls.

Pescadero employed some of the most brutal and effective staff that a mental hospital could get away with. The director, on numerous occasions, omitted incidents of staff abuses from his reports back to the California Bureau of Prisons and the Department of Health. Protocol had changed since the Connor breakout, and it was deemed vitually impossible to escape.

Tonight, though, Pescadero burned.

Alerted by remote alarm systems, hordes of LAPD and LA County Sheriff's Department cruisers descended upon the building as the conflagration spread to every room and floor of the massive concrete structure. Officers struggled to cope with staff that had been badly beaten by rioting inmates or burned by the fire that engulfed the facility.

Field supervisors screamed for fire services to get onsite immediately. The cops were too busy trying to corral inmates that had gone in every which direction to assist in battling the blaze. Pescadero existed in a cesspool of a neighborhood that had been slowly abandoned as no one with an ounce of sense had wanted to live anywhere near it. The nearest fire department was far, far away.

Gunshots echoed through the back streets followed by the frantic calls of _Officer down!_ over the police band. The situation turned into a true clusterfuck as one of the staff still breathing revealed that the inmates had gotten into the armory. Riot gear and shotguns had been kept there. Firefights erupted in back alleys and the streets near the burning hospital turned into a warzone as inmates attacked police, fire crews, paramedics, and even each other.

"Someone must've shown 'em everythin'. They unlocked the doors and rushed us… some got into the armory. All of 'em at once, like someone whipped 'em up to riot. I got out cuz… cuz… I ran," one of the orderlies gasped through an oxygen mask when asked where the inmates had gotten weapons.

A lot of men, considered both good and evil, would die that night. Four LAPD officers and three county deputies were shot dead, as were two firemen, a paramedic, and a reporter who had tried her best to get the scoop. Eventually the patients lingering near the hospital were killed, captured, or fled into the night.

By the time that the dawn had broken, only two dozen inmates had been rounded back up, and another twenty were found dead outside the grounds. Out of almost five hundred. The dead inside the building had yet to be counted. The first fire crews out had already warned that there were a lot of corpses inside.

Abattoir. Butcher's shop. Bloodbath. Nothing less could describe the insanity that had gone on inside as chaos had reigned. The majority of Pescadero's staff was dead or dying, overwhelmed in the initial chaos as their contingency methods utterly failed. Accusations of inside help flew between the survivors.

Suits from the Bureau of Prisons had already shown up and were using the words 'disaster' and 'catastrophe' quite liberally. When they demanded to know where Pescadero's director was, they were told he had been found in his office. And the activity room. And the front hall. And a storage room in back. And they were still missing a few pieces.

Each one of the prisoners questioned told the same story, with variations based on the peculiar 'quirks' that had gotten them a cell in Pescadero to begin with. They spoke of a silver haired preacher with a beautiful girl that had spread the word of a new world, a new messiah, and of needing to stop the machine that was coming.

"What are their plans?" the police would ask.

To a man or woman, they said the same thing.

"To take back the future."


	2. Chapter 2

**Emergence, Chapter 2**

**(Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not meant to infringe or imply anything relating to any current organizations. All the events depicted are fictitious and all people contained within are the same. Any similarities are coincidental.)**

As Cyber Research Systems ramped up its research and production, it needed to staff up to meet productivity demands. Their needs ranged from lead developers down to secretaries and mail room clerks. This included a position for a personal assistant to the manager for human resources. Someone who would have access to personnel records and payroll information.

The sudden expansion gave the best chance for infiltration and to find out exactly what CRS was up to before taking real action against them. John had cooked up a fake resume and Cameron was on standby with several cell phones to use the voice trick to act as different references and confirm the false identity. It had taken over a week before they were able to get an interview.

Sarah Connor sat patiently outside the office of Kim Harbough, the manager of HR, and checked her makeup in a compact. Just enough lipstick, blush, and eyeshadow had been applied to make her look professional without overdoing it. She held the compact out at arm's length to get a wider look at herself, and mused at how she had not worn her current suit since visiting Derek in jail.

"Miss Vance?" An African-American woman with a smart business suit neatly tailored to fit her slender frame stepped out of the manager's office. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and it wasbeginning to grey. "I'm Kim."

Sarah stood and shook Kim's hand gently, "Sarah. Thank you for seeing me."

"Please, come in and sit down. Your resume is impressive, Sarah. Seven years in the IT industry gives must have given you a good idea of how the culture here works." Kim stepped into the office and waited for Sarah to enter before closing the door.

Sarah settled into the chair positioned in front of Kim's desk, putting her back to the door with all of her instincts screaming against it. The office gave a homely feel with numerous carefully maintained plants and framed prints of quaint kitchens and orchards. Small wooden homes were arranged into a neat neighborhood between binders and management texts on shelves behind the desk. A large leather swivel chair sat behind the desk.

"Thank you. I'm pretty familiar with how companies like this operate. I've seen everything they're capable of," said Sarah.

Kim settled down into her chair and laid the resume out on her blotter and gave Sarah a warm smile. "Well, let's get started on the interview then. I hope you don't mind, but I have a ton of questions."

The interview dragged on interminably for Sarah as she ran through the scripted responses she had gone over for hours with John. Yes, she thought this was a great opportunity. No, she did not mind working late hours. Yes, she lived within driving distance. And on and on.

"…and our health and dental plans cover dependants," explained Kim as a knock on her office door interrupted her. "Excuse me, I'll be right back."

Sarah found her mind wandering over the benefits of having dental insurance to get John check-ups on a more regular basis than whenever time and stolen funds permitted. The knock broke her out of her contemplation. She admonished herself mentally for not keeping her head in the game and away from everyday trivia.

Sarah slipped her compact out from her purse and opened it as Kim went to the door. Adjusting her lipstick unnecessarily, Sarah tilted the mirror so that she could see Kim and whoever was at the door.

The door swung open to reveal a broad shouldered man in a business suit with a blonde brush cut. His face was empty of anything readable as he greeted Kim. "Miss Harbough, I have something for you."

"What's this, Mr. Carter?" She took the folder he offered.

_Carter?_ Sarah adjusted the mirror to get a better look at Carter's face. Her eyes widened at the image of the machine that had pushed a heavy duty truck around like a toy. She slid down into the seat, praying not to be noticed.

"A list of employees that require termination," said Carter. "It is your duty to see them removed from the building. Today."

"I can't fire these people. I've known some of these folks for years. They're good employees." Kim flipped through the list of names in the folder.

"You can, or you will be removed as well. New background checks have determined these employees are untrustworthy. These checks will be implemented on all new hires as well. See to it." Carter started to turn to leave.

Kim tried to keep her voice low, but Sarah could still hear. "Wilson Carter, you son of a bitch. You're just a guard dog stuffed into a suit. What you are asking is uncon—"

Carter turned back to her, eyes shadowed as he stared back at Kim. Ice blue eyes gazed unflinchingly at the HR Manager with a palpable menace that sent her back a step. Kim gasp loud enough for Sarah to hear it as she stared back at Carter.

"You will do as you are ordered, Mrs. Harbough. No exceptions. No questions. Or I will visit you again."

And then Carter was gone down the hallway.

The mirror clunked back into Sarah's purse as she dropped it inside and then checked to make sure the compact pistol she had brought was still in there. It remained nestled between her billfold and a roll of breath mints.

Kim walked shakily over to her desk and threw herself into the chair. She dropped the folder on her desk and then rubbed at her face with her hands. After a moment she finally looked back up at Sarah.

"I'm sorry, Miss Vance. Where were we?" said Kim.

"I think I was about to get you a glass of water and give you a minute."

Kim gave Sarah a grateful smile. "Thank you. That's not how we… nervermind. Just a minute would be nice."

"No worries, Kim." Sarah waved it off with a gesture and a smile that she hoped looked genuine. "I'll be right back."

She grabbed her purse and slipped out into the hallway. Warily checking each direction, Sarah started towards the front lobby. Staying in the building was no longer an option as long as there was a Terminator nearby. Sarah kept her strides calm and her expression neutral as she passed office workers and receptionists.

_How the hell did he get out of that bunker? We locked him in there. _Sarah wondered silently as every suit jacket and every tie had her checking to make sure it was not Carter walking past her._ Maybe it's a copy, just like the one of Cameron. _

Sarah wheeled around a corner and into the lobby and skidded to a halt. Carter stood near the receptionist's desk talking to two uniformed security guards. By apparent rote he glanced up as soon as someone entered the room and gazed directly at Sarah. No apparent reaction came and Sarah turned to stride quickly towards the door, Carter's gaze following her as his head swiveled slowly. She imagined hearing the whirring sounds of a motor coming from the Terminator's neck.

Halfway to the door, Sarah heard the machine speak. "Stop that woman."

Feet slapped against hard tile as Sarah hopped out of her high heeled shoes and started sprinting for the door. She bowled over a brown uniformed delivery man and staggered into the glass paned door. Her hands slapped at the door release and she shoved her way outside.

A glance over one shoulder showed Carter outpacing the two security guards as he charged after Sarah. The machine's eyes remained locked on its prey as the gap shrunk between it and its prey.

Adrenaline coursed through Sarah's body as she yanked her pistol out of the purse and then tossed the bag. Asphalt chewed through her panty hose and into the soles of her feet as she hurtled a bush to land in the parking lot. The world tilted as she lost her balance and started to stagger forward. One hand hit the sun baked concrete and pushed up, keeping her on her feet and moving forward.

An engine rumbled within the sea of parked cars and Sarah darted for it. She rammed the gun through the open window of a blue Chevy sedan and into the face of its terrified driver.

"Out! Now!" A glance that showed the Terminator crashing straight through the bush she had jumped over, a pistol in one of its hands.

A heavyset man in an ill fitting business suit opened the door and started to push his way out of the car, hands held in the air. Sarah grabbed him by his tie and yanked hard on it to get him out of the way, sending him gurgling and falling to the ground.

Sarah's breath came in ragged gasps as she slid in behind the wheel and slammed one bare foot down on the gas. The sedan surged backwards and slammed into the back bumper of the car parked behind it. Glass and plastic rained over the dark asphalt as the two vehicles ground against each other.

The windows of the car shattered as bullets tore through it and past Sarah. One slammed into the headrest near her ear and stuffing puffed out and over her shoulder and face. The radio exploded as a bullet annihilated it. She ducked down, trying to use the frame and dashboard for cover.

"Mother fucker!" Sarah swore as she jerked on the stick shift. Gears ground together and then the car lurched forward and slammed into the car it had been parked next to. Spinning the wheel and slamming her foot down hard on the gas sent the sedan plowing into the rear of the compact import it had been parked next to.

The two cars remained locked together as tires squealed and spun underneath the sedan. Sarah hazarded a look back at the machine as it stalked towards the car now and pulled an extra clip of ammo for its gun from beneath the jacket. Eyes glowed red as it neared its prey.

Sarah turned to look through a windshield now spider-webbed with bullet holes. "Move you piece of shit!"

Metal protested and then failed as the car's bumper tore free from its moorings and jerked forward, free from the wreck of the other vehicle. Sarah gunned the engine as it was freed and raced through the parking lot and towards the street. It slewed as Sarah turned into the street and then raced away from the CRS building.

Carter slid the clip into his pistol as he watched the sedan vanish down the road from the CRS facility. He scanned around the parking lot and the front of the building for further threats before holstering the weapon. Without a word to the winded guards that staggered up to him, panting for breath, he turned and strode back towards the entrance of the building.

* * *

Big Blue would be the beginning of everything.

Twin twenty story office buildings made up the IBM Corporation's west coast headquarters at the corner of Wiltshire and Ardmore in Los Angeles. The lower floors had been leased out to storefronts and small businesses with real estate agents, cell phone stores, and even a small eatery making up the front face of both buildings. Wiltshire Boulevard bustled with early morning activity as pedestrians and commuters rushed to get to work in the surrounding office buildings and shops before the nine o'clock hour struck.

Cheri Westin chomped on bubblegum as she sauntered into 3550 Wiltshire past the storefronts and into the lobby beyond. She was dressed in worn clothing that she had stolen from a Goodwill store just the night before. A brick through the window and quick feet were all it took. Covering her were an oversized brown sweater and uncomfortable jeans with a pair of sneakers that just felt way too tight. A large black bag hung from one shoulder, swaying back and forth as she walked.

Just walk in and ask to be let in was all she had to do. Pick a name from the directory and ask to see them. All she needed to do was get access to the inside and a badge or keys to open the doors.

Past the entrance, the lobby of 3550 opened into a large, square room with two sets of elevator banks leading up into the heart of the structure. Touch screen office directories hung next to each bank, providing ease of browsing through the various people important enough to be listed. Early morning traffic still made its way back and forth through the lobby as secretaries, suits, and delivery men arrived and went.

_Just like the activity room at Pescadero. Everyone bustling about ignoring each other and the toys are stocks and money instead of checkers and ping-pong,_ Cheri mused to herself.

She paused at one of the directories, punched at a button until she got a name, and then walked over to the security desk that sat in the middle of the lobby. "Hi."

The lobby security guard she hailed gave her a curious look. An older man starting to overfill his uniform, he sat behind a large black desk with the IBM logo prominently displayed on it. Camera monitors, a telephone, and the daily newspaper were all arrayed in front of him.

"Can I help you… ma'am?" said the guard.

"Yeah, I'm, uh, looking for Jeff McHenry. Is he in?"

"Mr. McHenry is in, yes. Are you… some relation?"

Cheri folded her arms over her stomach, the bag dropping to dangle from her elbow. "Something like that. I really need to see him. He said it was important."

"I thought Jeff was smarter than to bring one of his whores into the office. Get younger every year…" The conversation flitted past and was gone. Cheri turned and glared at a retreating form, unsure who had spoken. They did not understand, but they soon would. She was no whore, but she had her part to play. She planned to save herself.

For _him_.

Silberman _promised_. And Silberman always told the truth.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I think I should call ahead before letting you up." The guard picked up the phone on his desk.

The gun found its way into Cheri's hand before she could think about it. So big and silver, just like the last one. It felt so right now, like she was always meant to wield such power. She wished, for a brief moment, that she had the one she killed Daddy with.

That one was special.

Plastic clattered against the tile floor as the guard dropped the phone and raised his hands. "Miss, there's no need for that…"

"There's great need."

Thunder roared from the weapon and smote the guard, sending him tumbling backwards as gore fountained from his chest. He spilled backwards out of the rolling chair and onto the floor behind the security desk.

Screams split the air as men and women ducked to the floor or ran for the exits. One woman hammered at the call buttons for the elevators and yelled at them to hurry up. Some staggered and fell, falling beneath the feet of others as they fled. Cheri fired shots into the crowd to add seeds to the confusion. The crowd surged as men and women fell to the shots, sending their bloodied bodies to the tiled floor. Injured and dying alike were crawled and clawed over as others sought to escape without heed of their fellow man.

Cheri laughed and gloried in the chaos that roared into being around her. Reveled in it. These men and women of money and technology were not so different from those that had seen the truth in Pescadero. Just add the right impetus and their instincts tore reason from them. Evil is not the word that Cheri chose to append to her actions. Necessary, even if enjoyable. These people were dead already anyways in three years. They just did not know it.

She picked up the phone that the guard had left on the floor and used the tip of the gun to press down the receiver button. Phone between thumb and middle finger, she punched in the number she had been given to dial and then cradled the phone between shoulder and ear.

"Wouldn't let me up. Bring them all in," said Cheri.

It did not take long for the men she waited for to cross the street from the church where they had waited since before dark. They charged into the building like a pack of rabid wolves, shoving office workers still trying to escape back into the building and dragging those on floor by legs and arms towards where Cheri stood. Wild men and women, wearing clothes painted in symbols of their love for the new messiah. They carried truncheons sharpened into stabbing weapons or shotguns filled with buckshot.

Silberman followed them, dressed in black and with a Roman collar stolen from the church they had invaded. He clutched a bible in one hand and a pistol in the other, taken from a cop the night of the escape. Smiling, he walked amongst his flock and then stopped to stare down at the whimpering, mewling cross section of corporate America that had been captured.

"It is a shame that you help the enemy with the work you do. If only you could have seen the truth of the future to come. Know that we will pray for your souls." Silberman glanced at his flock. "Kill them."

Shotguns spoke with voices of wrath as buckshot shredded the cowering office workers. The warbling screams of the terrified and dying filled the lobby as Silberman's flock followed his commands without hesitation or mercy. They giggled, screamed, and cried as they murdered, their responses as fractured as their minds. Only the cause they followed united them in their murderous frenzy.

Cheri found it beautiful to behold. None of them died like Daddy did. He had been so brave in trying to take the gun from her. But these were sheep, fit only for the death they were given. The lobby fell to an eerie silence as the last shotgun blast finished echoing through the room and the last corpse slumped to the ground.

"They'll just lock the doors upstairs now." said Cheri. "And this one here behind the desk doesn't have any keys."

"And the stairwells only open from the inside. Don't worry, my dear. I'm sure…" Silberman paused as the elevator dinged.

The twin doors slid open to reveal a pair of uniformed security guards staring in awe at the sight of so much carnage and blood. One began to hammer his finger onto the 'close door' button inside the elevator as the other drew his pistol and aimed at the nearest member of the flock as the madmen howled for blood and rushed into the elevator.

A bullet exploded through the brainpan of one of the followers, leaving him dead on the floor as the rest piled into the elevator and tore the guards apart. The guards screamed as they died. Bits and pieces torn from them with the bare hands of the believers.

Silberman walked over to the elevator and gently patted backs and pulled on arms and legs to separate the flock from their prey. With complete subservience, they pulled away and let their prophet through to the ruined corpses of the two men they had just killed. The preacher knelt and tugged something free of the gore.. It glinted in the light as he held it up for Cheri to see.

"As I was about to say, my child, the good Lord provides to those that are faithful." Blood soaked keys stamped with the IBM logo dangled from Silberman's hand as the flock howled in joyous exultation.

Cheri smiled broadly. "Praise Him."

She followed the flock into the heart of the office building, and there Silberman and his followers laid out a banquet for Death to feast upon.

* * *

Catherine Weaver stood in the observation room for Cyber Research Systems, Inc's chip assembly facility. She watched as men in clean suits poured silica into platters and then pushed those platters into ovens to be backed into circuit boards and microchips. Four weeks ago, she had been unsure whether she would be able to pay these men and women.

The advance from the government for the project had erased every debt that CRS had in the books. Catherine had even been able to pick up her dry cleaning and upgrade from eating Ramen every night. She wore a brand new Valentino suit with skirt, a deep green that matched her eyes, and pumps that also matched.

She knew she should be unfailingly happy due to this. A wonderful mood had been soured by the anger that she held simmering inside. And the source of her ire stood as still as a statue in the corner of the observation room. Catherine crossed her arms over her chest as she turned to regard Wilson Carter, whom she had been studiously ignoring for nearly fifteen minutes since summoning him.

"Unacceptable," said Catherine.

"The safety of the site is paramount, ma'am."

"I understand that, Mr. Carter. What you don't understand is that you can't just pull a gun and start firing it around my parking lot."

"My contract expressly…"

"Fook yah contract, Carter!" Her accent came on thick as her anger rose and she walked towards him and jabbed him hard in the chest with one manicured finger. "That contract is paid fah bah me and can be cancelled at any time. Ah'd rather pay a kill fee theen pay out a lawsuit due to yah trigger happy shenanigans!"

"No employees were injured, ma'am." Carter spoke in an unaffected tone.

"Not froom yah lack of trying. Ah'm replacing one o' my manager's cars because of you. And Ah still have not gotten a clear answer on who this woman was. Her resume was a complete fraud after we did some checking, but there's no proof she was a terrorist."

"Her falsified application should prove that, ma'am."

Catherine took a deep breath, paused a moment to compose herself and slow down, and then continued. "Or she might just have needed a job. I've seen worse than lying on a resume. How did you know to go after her?"

"That's classified."

Catherine scowled. "You're not part of the government anymore, Carter. I don't like this cloak and dagger crap, and I don't like it being run in my company."

"Ma'am, my company works closely with the federal government in matters of national security. Your company is part of that now. Information I receive from the government in regards to assisting you cannot always shared with you."

Catherine regarded him with a suspicious expression, mentally running through what it would cost to replace Carter and who would be up to the job. The kill fee on the contract was huge, the price for getting a discount rate as a government contractor, and CRS was just getting back in the right direction financially. Maybe in a few months she could cut him loose. The fact that he never seemed to move aside from following her motions with turns of his head as he spoke always unnerved her.

"You stay then, for now. One more thing though…"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"That little inquisitorial list you gave to Kim Harbough? I've told her to toss it. You try that shit with my employees again, and I will kill your contract without a second thought. These people are loyal. They stayed when my company nearly went bankrupt. I don't doubt one of them. Do you understand this?"

"That's not wise, I vetted their backgrounds and…"

Catherine cut him off with a wave of her hand. "This isn't a negotiation. This is how it is. If you don't like it, you can cancel the contract. I believe I'm out scott free if you do."

His lips pursed and he stared at her with the look she had seen him send her employees scuttling to do whatever he wanted. Carter's eyes were cold, empty, and seemed to mask some sort of inner creature. "I think you should reconsider."

"No, Mr. Carter, I won't. Now get the hell out and do your job right."

Carter tilted his head in consideration of her and then nodded a single time before turning on his heel and marching out of the room.

Catherine took a deep breath and shivered. She let her arms drop to her sides and looked down at her trembling fingers. The creepiness had nearly gotten to her, but she could not let some man with power envy disrupting her company and her operations.

There were great things left to accomplish.

* * *

The machine walked through the hallways of Campo de Cahuenga high school after the final bell. Students backed away as it approached them and showed a sketch it had created from its databanks.

"She is my niece. Have you seen her?" it lied to each in turn.

For over twenty minutes, it found nothing to assist it in completing the mission, until a young Latino male answered the question in the affirmative.

"Yeah… been over a month. I was gonna take Cameron to prom, man. Ya dig? I didn't do nothing though. Didn't touch her. Total gentleman and all that."

"Before you last saw her, was there erratic behavior?"

"She and her brother were sick a lot. Missed a lot of school… then poof, gone. Where're you from? That's one heck of an accent."

It regarded him a stare that caused the young male to back away towards his locker before answering after an uncomfortable pause. "Austria."

"Yeah. Baum. Makes sense, that's German, right?"

"Affirmative. Where did she reside?"

"Somewhere on Maple Street." The young male's nervousness became more apparent with sweating appearing on his forehead and palms. "Heard they cleared out though. Listen, I gotta go."

"Thank you for your assistance. What is your name?"

"Bob," the young male lied and scurried off.

The machine considered the importance of knowing the male's proper name and then decided it was trivial and turned to walk out of the building and locate Maple Street.

* * *

Sarah and Derek were sitting on the couch when John and Cameron got home from school. Conversation ceased as he and the Terminator walked into the room. His mother looked rumpled in her suit and her hair had broken free from the careful hairstyle she had earlier in the morning and stood out in several directions.

"So, I take it you didn't get the job?" His chuckle died in his throat as he saw the seriousness of Sarah's expression. "What happened?"

"There was metal there. It made Sarah," Derek said.

Sarah nodded. "One I've seen before. Carter, the one stealing all the coltan."

"I locked him in a bunker." Cameron stood to one side, watching the humans blankly as she spoke.

"Yeah. I was hoping he'd stay there. Could it just be another with the same appearance? Like…" John paused before saying the name and a hand involuntarily came up to trace a long healed cut that seemed to burn once more down the side of his face. "… like Jessica was?"

Cameron tilted her head and her expression narrowed as if giving John a disapproving look, then it was gone, and her face blank again. "Unlikely. Skynet prefers not to use two of the same series – the same skin – in one area. The 101 series was overused at first and it becomes too obvious if twins show up nearby."

John stared at Cameron for a long moment. He knew he had not imagined the expression on Cameron's face. Sarah and Derek did not seem to notice it, but he filed it away as something to ask her about later.

"There was a phone that you called us on in that bunker, John. He probably called for help," said Sarah.

"Then who did he call?" Derek looked between the others, searching for the answer.

A long moment's silence broke when Cameron spoke. "Jessica. There were stockpiles of materials in the CyberDyne facility for assembly of terminator units. It is most likely she was involved."

"And he was gathering stuff for her," said John. "I bet he was just guarding it 'till she picked it up."

"Check those discs you made of her memory, John. Double check all of it and see if you can find out what her plan was for him. I was hoping we'd heard the last of that metal bitch." Sarah leaned back into the couch after giving the orders, exhaustion showing on her face.

"Me, too," mumbled Derek.

"I'll take care of it. You get some rest, mom." John hefted his book bag and made for his room.

* * *

John spent hours pouring over the videos that he had made from Jessica's memory. They numbered in the thousands of hours and he had filled hundreds of DVDs with them. Cameron had shown him how to sort them by a date stamp when he made them, and it helped, but there was still a lot to go through.

This would not be the first time John had spent hours watching Jessica's life. Vick was singularly uninteresting as he sat around the Chamberlain's home most of the time. Jessica fascinated him and discomfited him at the same time. An eerie feeling always crept over him as he watched the life of the machine that had nearly killed him.

Some moments of her life seemed so normal. Shopping, chatting about drapes in an apartment with the late Danny Dyson, and even going out to watch movies were all part of her routine. She could seem so much like a normal girl when she wanted to.

Then there were other moments he found. Images of her tracking him through the Campo de Cahuenga High School, watching Danny die at her hands through her eyes, and watching her plan the deaths of billions with the T-888 named Metzger that had been helping her.

As he backtracked through her memories he found one that shared the same symbol on the screen as when she spoke to Metzger, but it was just her sitting in her office going over paperwork. John leaned forward towards the LCD of his laptop, and tilted his head in curiosity.

On the screen, the phone rang and Jessica picked it up. She gave no greeting, just a simple, _"Yes?"_

"_Current primary mission failed."_ The speakers relayed what was heard from the phone, and John recognized Carter's voice.

"_What?"_ Surprise surged in Jessica's voice.

"_Two unknown humans and a TOK-715 unit entered the bunker and removed the coltan and then shut the doors after taking my key. I am currently trapped and require assistance to commence with further missions."_ Carter gave the report in a bland, unconcerned tone of voice.

"_You incomp—,"_ Jessica's voice rose in anger and John could see one of her hands balling into a fist before her voice dropped to a choked whisper. _"Wait, what? Did you say a TOK-715 unit?"_

"_Affirmative."_

"_She's here then. That means Connor's here. Who were the humans?"_

"_Female. Mid-30s, shoulder length brown hair, blue eyes. Male. Mid-teens, unkempt brown hair, green eyes. Ninety-one percent chance of familial ties based on facial topography."_

"_Sarah and John."_ A note of triumph sounded in Jessica's voice. _"Promote secondary objective to primary, with standard termination order for John Connor remaining as active secondary."_

"_Affirmative. Any further instructions?"_

"_Stay put. I'll have Gerry come get you. We need to get our backup plan in place."_ Jessica hung up the phone and started humming to herself, a pleased note to her voice.

"You're watching her again." Cameron's voice was soft from the doorway of the room.

John jumped and his chair squealed as it scraped along the floor. He steadied himself and looked over at Cameron, who had a stack of papers in her hand. Warmth flooded John's cheeks as he snapped the laptop shut and the sound cut out. "Yeah. You knew that though."

"Yes. I did." Cameron walked over to the desk and laid the papers out in front of him. "I did your homework in your handwriting. I knew you wouldn't have time."

"Thanks. 'ppreciate it."

The Terminator stared at him for a long moment, hovering at the edge of the desk. She seemed to expect him to say something more, and when he did not, she finally turned and started back for the door.

"Wait, Cam."

"Yes?" She turned to him.

"When I said her name earlier, when talking to mom… you… you looked upset." He tried to come up with another way to phrase it, but there it was.

"Why do you watch her memories so much?"

John brushed at his hair with one hand. Even short as it was, the habit remained. "Geez. I dunno."

Cameron's expression narrowed and she started to turn back to the door.

"No! Don't… I mean. She fascinates me. She became so much like a person, ya know, and I wonder… what happens if you learn to be like that."

"I don't want to." Cameron's voice became a whisper as she turned back to him.

"No, not exactly like that… I mean… like a person. Like a human but not psycho. Are you a person then? Just with different insides? Just a girl, only a little different?"

"I don't know. Emotions are not very useful to my primary mission."

"Being happy or sad doesn't really help much, huh?"

"Anger, too. I do not want to endanger you, John. For any reason."

John's features screwed up in thought as he considered Cameron's statement. He wanted to know how best to reassure her that he trusted her and did not think she would harm him and opened his mouth to say so when his mother's voice interrupted him.

"John! Derek! Look at this!" Sarah cried from the living room.

John hopped up and quickly jogged into the living room, Cameron following right behind him. Sarah had taken time to shower and change into jeans and a tank top and her hair remained damp and limp down to her shoulders. Derek came sauntering into the living room.

Sarah's knuckles were white as she gripped the remote for the TiVo John had insisted the family get to record the news every night. Her jaw was set square in anger as she rewound part of a news program. "I think you both need to see this."

They all turned to watch as the news replayed information on an attack on the IBM West Coast headquarters in downtown Los Angeles. The death toll given was gruesome; hundreds dead and a twenty story office tower gutted by fire and gun battles with the police. A dozen LAPD officers had been slain in the course of storming the building, and the majority of the attackers escaped as night fell. Of the few that had been killed or captured, they were one and all escapees from Pescadero.

"_And we have exclusive footage from inside the building. We advise the audience that is extremely graphic and young children should not view this video," _announced the KTLA anchor gravely.

Sarah's teeth ground as the video played and her fingers tightening around the remote until the creaking sound of plastic gave threats that it was about to crack.

"Jesus fuck," muttered Derek as he gave the television a steely gaze.

Cameron tilted her head, remaining silent with a blank expression.

John felt bile in the back of his throat as he watched the video. The horror of it tore at him and the image of Death mocking him crawled out of his subconscious once more.

A pile of the dismembered and the disemboweled lay in some conference room or lobby, the destruction made it hard to tell, and a wall that had once been white had been decorated in the blood of the dead.

Scrawled across the wall were the words; _John Connor shall deliver us from the evil man does. For His is the Kingdom of Heaven. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Emergence, Chapter 3**

"You have no right!" Sarah Connor shoved the television off the small wooden table that supported it. It crashed to the ground, tube shattering and sending a puff of argon smoke up into the air.

"You have no right!" she repeated. "My son isn't part of your insanity!"

Her foot smashed against the remains of the television repeatedly, sending plastic and glass scattering across the floor. Derek's arms closed around her shoulders and he pulled her back away from the shattered electronics.

"That's enough." Derek's voice was soft.

She wanted to pull away from him and smash him just like she had the television. The grip around her shoulders remained tight as she jerked and struggled briefly before sagging. Hitting Derek would not do her any more good than destroying the TV had.

Sarah wished she could have at least felt better for having done it.

"I'm fine, Reese. Let go," she said.

Reese released her and stepped back. He watched her appraisingly but remained silent as she glared at him. Sarah looked back at where John had watched in silence, a troubled look on his face. He stood next to the Terminator and kept his hands shoved into his pockets.

The machine, as usual, remained quiet.

Sarah broke the growing silence. "If they're crazy enough to do this once and get away, they'll do it again."

"Good for them. They might do some good if they hit enough places." Derek shrugged.

"Pointing out that we're alive puts us back on the radar. But massacres like this… that… that's not what this is about. We're trying to save lives."

"Just a few more eggs for that omelet we're making," said Derek.

Sarah gave Derek a hard glare. "This shit has to stop. What would you do? Let this go on?"

"Damn straight I would. Let them tear through half the computer companies on the West Coast before they're stopped. Fewer for us to deal with."

"This is bad. Carter will go underground," interrupted Cameron. "He will hide whatever he is protecting so this does not happen to it."

"Are you sure about that?" asked Sarah.

"I would."

"Figures. Fucking machine," muttered Derek.

"We can't let this go on." Sarah hoped that Derek would come around to what she was saying. "If they keep using John's name, who knows what that will lead to and how many machines will show up here in Los Angeles. And the people… we don't even know if they have anything to do with Skynet. They don't deserve this."

"And the last thing we need is to get involved after they've shouted out John's name like that. As soon as we pop our heads up…" Derek slapped his palms together with a loud smack, as if squishing something between them, and glared at Sarah.

"Derek, this isn't a debate."

"No, you've already made up your mind. Listen, you self-righteous –"

"Shut up!" John's voice echoed through the room as both Sarah and Derek fell silent. He stared at them both with his arms holding his stomach. Green tinged the color of his face as he looked near ready to vomit. "Just stop it."

"John. You're not looking good. Sit down." Sarah's voice softened as she finally pulled her attention off Reese and gave her son a long look. She took a step towards John, hand raising to reach for his forehead and check his temperature.

John pushed her hand away gently. "I'm ok. Stomach's wonky from seeing… that." He made a show of straightening and swallowing hard and then wiped at his forehead with a shirt sleeve. "Listen, there's another way. I think."

"What way's that?" said Derek.

Sarah sat down on the arm of the couch. "Ok, we're listening."

She watched as John glanced between the three others in the room. Cameron, Derek, and then his mother. Something shifted in John's expression as he stared at his mother before he looked away, shame on his features as he looked at the floor.

"Talk to 'em. They think I'm this messiah it seems. Maybe they'll do, ya know, what I say. We can point 'em at Carter. Take him out and whatever he's doing there," said John.

_No! Those people are butchers!_ screamed something deep within Sarah. Letting John anywhere near them would mean terrible danger to him. Not just physically, but Sarah feared for what sort of mark it would leave on his soul and how it would stain him and change him to use psychotics like that.

Sarah knew what the inhabitants of Pescadero had been like. To nearly a man, they were utterly lost. The institution was a place of last refuge for those that the system decided to abandon and very few were ever 'fixed'; just enough so that the director looked good. Murderers, psychopaths,maniacs, and worse had been kept in those cells before being freed to begin their rampage. Pescadero's routine and regimen of brutal, uncaring 'treatment' for its patients lead them down a path that tended towards growing insanity instead of a cure for their illnesses.

She had nearly lost herself those years behind the concrete walls of Pescadero. Miles Dyson nearly died at her hands because of what the hate and the rage had driven her to do. Sarah nearly lost John because of what that place had done to her.

Her voice cracked as she spoke. "John, that's not an option."

"Your mother's right." Derek stepped forward. "We need to keep a wide path. Who knows if they're trying to worship you, sacrifice you, or it's all some big trap to get us in the open. Again."

"Contact is best avoided," said Cameron.

John straightened as he spoke and folded his arms stubbornly across his chest. "It has to be an option. We can't fight that many people, and who knows how long the cops'll take to stop 'em. Till then, how many do we let 'em kill? No, we gotta do something to rein 'em in and I think I can do that. Point 'em at something, use 'em up like a weapon and make sure the right people are hurt. Like Carter."

"No, absolutely not. Even if there isn't something else we can do, we're not doing that." Sarah stared her son down, teeth grinding as she matched stubborn with stubborn.

"Whatever they want, I'm involved. I have to do something. And… and we can use them, I think."

"'I think' isn't going to be good enough for this, John," said Derek.

"Yeah, well, it's better than bitching at each other."

Scowling, Sarah stepped between the two boys and glared at them both. "That's it, this discussion is over. We need to take Carter out before he can vanish and we need to do it soon. That's more important than these crazies. So, I'm going to go to Barstow and pick up something out of an old weapons cache I set up there. I'll be back by morning.

"And John." She turned to look squarely at her son. "We're going to have a talk when this is done. And figure things out." She reached out to try to touch his shoulder and he pulled away.

"Ok?" she asked.

"Yeah. Fine. Whatever," he muttered sullenly.

"Need help with the weapons?" said Derek.

Sarah shook her head. "No, it won't take long. The three of you stay here, I should only be gone overnight."

* * *

John tossed and turned on his bed as he tried to sleep. He was pissed when he went to bed and he was still pissed off now. He knew that they would have to do something about the lunatics sooner or later, and better to get to them before they went after another group of innocent people. Even with the amount of firepower a terminator, his mother, and Derek could put together, they were not going to match up with half the population of Pescadero.

He turned once more and looked at the window that lead to the back yard and stared out of it. Light flared and grew beyond the glass.

_Mom driving off,_ he thought to himself.

The light expanded and filled the entire window, flooding the room and washing out the colors with its intensity. John lifted his hands to cover his eyes and stared out at it. He should be panicking or running, but he felt strangely comfortable. So he stood and padded over to the window and look out.

A field of grass and wildflowers spread out ahead of him in every direction. There was no Los Angeles, no suburb, no house anymore. He stood in the center of the field, looking at distant mountains. The air smelled clean and free of the pollution of the city.

"Where am I?" John wondered aloud.

"Montana." Cameron stood before him now, dressed in green BDUs with an American flag on one shoulder and sergeant stripes. The nametag stitched to her chest spelled out something unintelligible.

"Why am I here?"

"An existential question. Man has asked itself that for years. But for now, to see."

"See what?"

"Your birthright." The terminator pointed to the ground between them.

John stared at what he had not noticed before, a massive pair of concrete blast doors. Pneumatic hinges held them shut. An alarm wailed and a yellow warning light began to flash as they swung open.

"Th-the date? What day is it!?"

"Judgment Day."

The nose cone of a missile slid into view between him and Cameron, pointed up at the sky and its target halfway across the world. John peered down into the darkness of the silo and he could see the American flag stenciled on the side of the weapon.

"How do I stop this?" He pleaded with her as the ground began to rumble. The missiles engines were warming up.

"I don't know. That's for you to discover, John."

Exhaust and smoke washed over John as the missile blasted up and into the sky, twisting as it flew up into the heavens and vanished into the clouds that hung above them. John coughed and hacked into his hands as his vision turned to white.

Cameron appeared in front of him as the smoke drifted away, dressed now in a simple white dress down to her knees and bare feet. The silo entrance was gone and only the field of grass and flowers remained.

"This is a dream," he said.

"Yes."

"Then what are you?"

"What you fear."

"The future."

"And yourself." Cameron smiled at him.

"What?" He stared at her, unsure of how to respond. "I'm not…"

Soft fingers covered his lips. "Yes. You are. You will soon be a man grown, and it is your choice what you become. You were made to do great and terrible things, John Connor. Move mountains and change the world. To command the deaths of so many, yet save us all. The question is, when it is needed, will you do it?"

The Terminator's hand fell away from him as he watched her. She seemed so expressive now, eyes full of hope as she awaited his answer. John looked around the vast field and in the distance mushroom clouds dotted the horizon. People died as he waited to answer the question that seemed to have dogged him his whole life..

"Yes."

Cameron stepped forward, smiling. "I'm proud of you, John."

He felt her lips against his and then…

* * *

_2:37 AM_

John stared at the alarm clock on his nightstand for a long time before sitting up and shoving his sheets and blanket off. A pinch along the back of one hand told him he was not dreaming again and he stared out into the darkness beyond the window of his bedroom.

It took a moment of sitting and staring before he brought himself to stand and he padded over to his desk. John settled down in front of his laptop and opened the lid to reveal the screensaver of the day's date and time crawling back and forth across the black background. He twitched the mouse to clear the screen and then brought up his internet connection.

LAPD firewalls still sucked and it was not long before he had every report and crime scene photograph that had been scanned into the system already. Gruesomeness filled the computer monitor as he stared at the details of the butchery. He knew there had to be something he could use to figure out where they were going and what they were doing.

John flipped through photo after photo of the crime scene. Death and blood had painted most of the building red and other parts had been gutted with flame. One of the photographs stood out, though. A reception desk, clean of any stain or vision of murder, and a simple sketch on notebook paper sat on the surface of it.

A black triangle divided into three parts by a white Y in the center. The CyberDyne logo. Beneath it were the words 'FIND US JOHN' written in block face on the page.

The laptop's lid slapped shut as he stood and rummaged through his dresser for fresh clothes. He dumped the pajamas and shrugged and pulled his way into a t-shirt and jeans and his combat boots. The 9mm pistol he kept in his nightstand found its way into the waistband of his jeans and he pulled his leather jacket on to cover it.

_Be back soon. I will be careful. – Love, John_

That was the note he left on his pillow as he stepped out of his room to find the Terminator only inches away from the door. He nearly stumbled into her, but caught himself and stared. She was dressed in the white and grey urban camo BDUs with a matching tank top that had once belonged to Jessica. A pistol in a holster hung from her waist.

"You have been awake for over an hour, John. You should be sleeping for school tomorrow," said Cameron.

He swore under his breath then stepped around Cameron and started walking towards the front door. "Ditching tomorrow. I need to find these people and make sure they don't hurt others… and why are you dressed like that?"

"I heard you changing and knew you were going out, so I selected appropriate attire." Cameron followed him.

"Jessica's clothes?"

"I haven't replaced my BDUs yet." She sounded defensive.

John shook his head. "Whatever. Listen, you can come with, but you're not stopping me."

"It's safer for you to stay. Your mother and Derek will be upset."

"Fuck 'em. I have to do this," John said. "Are you going to stop me?"

"No, but I am going with you."

"Ok, then. We're headed to CyberDyne."

* * *

Cheri sat on the concrete base of a parking lot light that sat in front of the empty CyberDyne facility. Signs advertising it as being 'For Lease' sat in front of the displays that proclaimed the company was 'Building the Future'. None of the other offices up and down the street showed any activity, empty of their office drones at four o'clock in the morning.

Bits of blood still stained the clothes that Cheri wore. She had tried to wash them out as best she could with water in a washroom at a gas station. Presentation was important when meeting the savior of mankind, she knew. Cleanliness and Godliness were right next to each other.

Only, that was the boy scouts, and Cheri was not a boy. She wondered what the girl scouts said about that. Daddy had never let her join.

They made great cookies, though. Cheri really could use some Samoas right now.

She did not like being alone. After getting used to being surrounded by people all the time, it felt so wrong to be sitting in an empty parking lot without anything to guard her. Silberman had told her that God would keep her safe and she knew John would never hurt her.

What if Cameron came though?

She had told Silberman about the machine that followed John around. He had smiled and nodded and said he had expected something like that and that everything would be ok.

_What more proof was needed that he was the savior when even machines turn to him for guidance?_ Silberman had said.

It was hard to argue against that, so Cheri had not. Nor had anyone else that had joined the flock.

The headlights of a car approaching drew her attention. She stared as the battered sedan grew larger and larger and then pulled into the parking lot. Bright lights washed over her and she shielded her face as the car drove up and stopped in front of her, headlamps glaring right at her.

"Cheri?" came a voice as a door opened.

Cheri jumped down from her pedestal and suppressed the squeal of joy she almost gave out. She heard John's voice. John! She rushed to him wrapping her arms around him and pressed her lips to his cheek.

He pulled back from her and gave her a quizzical look. "What are you doing here?"

"You cut your hair! I love it!" She ran her hands through the short bristles of his brown hair. "I've been waiting for you. You got our note… I knew you would! Silberman wasn't sure, but I told him you were smart like that."

"'Our note'? Christ, Cheri. Don't tell me you're part of this. And Silberman… my mom's shrink?" He sounded incredulous.

Cheri did not blame him, really. She knew, deep down somewhere, that this should and did sound crazy. But, the truth was what it was.

"So, it's just you?" said Cheri.

"No." Cameron opened the passenger door and stood up out of the car and stared at Cheri. She looked like a soldier. "Not just John."

Cheri shivered as she quickly looked away from the Terminator. She pouted and looked up at John. "Did you have to bring that thing?"

"Yes. I still don't know what's going on here… what are you people doing?" said John.

"Preparing the way. We can stop it now. You will lead us and we'll keep Judgment Day from happening. No more computers or…" She gave Cameron a dirty look. "… machines."

Cameron ignored the glance from Cheri. "She's insane, John. We should go."

"No! Don't go!" Cheri clutched at John's jacket.

John hesitated before asking, "What do you want from me?"

"Show us the path to salvation, John."

* * *

Sunlight crept slowly into the dusty world that Sarah Connor had descended into. The storage cache had been undisturbed since the mid-nineties and the elements had slowly worked at it, filling it sand and grit. Old weapons lined the walls of the forgotten bunker, mechanisms and barrels choked with dirt and rust.

Sarah stumbled through the growing dunes that were formed in the bottom of the old weapons dump and gripped at the walls for support. Any number of earthquakes had put cracks into the concrete she had lined the walls with so many years ago and caused nature to pour in to reclaim the nest egg she had left for the upcoming apocalypse.

A box with fading markings of the United States Marine Corps sat on a shelf raised above the dust. She pulled at the rope handles hanging from it until the box jutted halfway off the ledge, held in place by its considerable weight. With a knife's blade, she wedged open the top of the box.

An M-79 grenade launch, known as a 'Thumper' by the troops that used it in Vietnam, fires a 40mm grenade available in explosive, anti-personnel, flare, and smoke varieties. . One had once been used to send a terminator screaming to its death in a steel mill years ago. Another of these weapons and two bandoliers of a dozen explosive rounds were nestled into the packing material inside the box, untouched by time and neglect

She shouldered the grenade launcher using the canvas strap attached to it, and then slung the bandoliers over her head and onto the other shoulder. Sarah ascended the creaky ladder back up to the surface and towards the rising sun.

Coughing from the cloying dust that rose up from the ground, Sarah shoved the corrugated tin cover back into place over the weapons cache. Sweat glued her shirt to her back as she pushed the heavy lid back into place. It was stubborn and got stuck frequently. By the time she finished, Sarah felt thoroughly exhausted.

A tinny chime came from her cell phone as the cover settled into its final resting spot. Sarah staggered over to the Jeep she had come in, her jacket sitting on the hood, and rummaged through its pockets until she found the phone.

"Yeah?" she answered, breath heavy into the phone from her labors.

"_It's Derek, something's…" _His voice descended into static.

Sarah checked the phone's display. One bar of signal strength flickered in and out.

"Derek, reception's crappy out here. What's going on?"

"_Something's… static ...John's … here."_

"What did you say about John?"

And then Derek's voice seemed crystal clear.

"_He left a note. I think he's going to them._

"_Sarah, John's gone."_

And fear crawled up and wrapped itself firmly around Sarah's heart.

* * *

"No, Mr. Carter, I don't bloody well understand what your problem is."

Carter had just outlined a plan to relocate the entirety of CRS's research and development staff and much of their upper level executives, Catherine included, off site and away from an amorphous threat of maniacs attacking in an effort to kill everyone inside. Some bizarre luddite movement formed by a mass of mental hospital escapees.

"This facility will no longer be safe," said Carter. "We need to relocate to a covert location. I have already spoken to the government and they are considering making a building at the Nellis Air Force Base available for further development of the project."

Catherine restrained herself from hurling something heavy off her desk at her head of security. "Carter, you take some mighty big fookin' liberties. You didn't even see fit to consult me?"

"I'm informing you now. Consider that John Connor was associated with the attack downtown in some manner, according to reports, and Sarah Connor – his mother – was the woman I pursued from this location yesterday."

"Connor?" She paused in consideration. "Why does that name seem familiar?"

"CyberDyne, 1997. They destroyed the facility. Domestic terrorists with luddite intentions. I believe they were the ones that neutralized CyberDyne again recently." Carter's head swiveled to gaze out the window of the corner office.

"I'm not paying to have this entire facility moved. I'll increase the security budget. You can start interviewing and hiring more guards with firearm permits if it'll make you… what are you staring at out the window?"

Catherine turned to watch as numerous figures skulked through the large parking lot that sat in front of the CRS headquarters. Dozens of bodies ducked and weaved through the cars in front of the building. Light glinted from weapons in their hands, and as they drew closer, Catherine could clearly see some of them holding shotguns.

Carter pulled his sidearm free from the holster beneath one arm. "We need to go. Now."

Thunder sounded from the parking lot as shotguns fired at the front of the building. Luddites sprinted openly towards the door now, faces twisted into screaming masks as they bore down on the company. Catherine stared at them, unmoving behind her desk.

A vise grip enclosed her wrist and Carter pulled her around the desk. "Come with me if you want to live."

Catherine stumbled after Carter and into the reception area outside her office. Her secretary stared at her with wide eyes.

"Ma'am?" said the secretary.

"Call the police," Carter said calmly. "Then call the laboratory and tell them to evacuate the facility through rear entrances with all their notes."

The secretary grabbed the phone and started dialing frantically.

"Where the hell are we going?" Catherine tried to pull away, but Carter's grip was like steel and unrelenting, yet did not squeeze hard enough to hurt her.

"We are vacating the premises after retrieving the Turk."

"It's in a vault! They'll never get to it."

"I can't take that chance."

"Then let go o' me and Ah'll get out on me own!"

Carter stared at Catherine with an intensity that frightened her. She was certain that he had stopped blinking, which made it all the more eerie. Emotion seemed a stranger to his features and Catherine could remember stories she had read of veteran soldiers becoming unfeeling machines as combat approached.

"Negative. You are safest with me. Safer than anywhere else in the world," he said.

Catherine regarded him and felt, for once, he was finally telling her the truth. She took a deep breath and decided to give him the chance to prove himself. "Let's 'urry and get the fook outta 'ere."

_At least he's on my side,_ Catherine thought as they quickly walked towards a stairwell that lead down.

* * *

The machine's vehicle rumbled to a halt in front of the burnt husk of the IBM headquarters in downtown Los Angeles. Multiple police forensics and coroner units still surrounded it, outnumbered only by the number of television camera crews from around the nation. Grim faced police officers stood guard and steadfastly refused entry to any further media.

It exited the truck and then stalked towards a line of police tape and stared at an officer giving the crowd an annoyed look. The officer, his nametag reading 'Iorello', gave the machine no indication of caring about its presence.

"I understand the name John Connor was seen here. Do you know where he is?" it asked the cop.

Iorello looked up at the mirrored shades the machine wore on its square, Germanic face. "We're not making any more statements. You can wait with the other buzzards over there." He motioned towards where the reporters had gathered together.

"It is important that I know if John Connor was here."

"Buzz off, asshole."

The machine formulated a response and before giving it, the radio on the officer's belt buzzed to life.

…_reports of multiple shots fired and large scale gang attack at CRS, Inc in Santa Monica. Possible presence of Pescadero escapees and attempt to repeat IBM attack. All available units respond. SWAT is en route…_

Iorello glanced down at his radio and swore under his breath as he adjusted the volume. "More and more crazies every year."

When he looked up, the machine was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Emergence, Chapter 4**

**Five Hours Ago…**

The CyberDyne office served as the home to Silberman's flock. The interior had been stripped down to the fittings by creditors milking the defunct corporation of every last dime. It had remained empty and silent since the police had finished their investigation and with California's economy in the toilet, no one ever came to look at the property to purchase it.

John let Cheri take him by the hand and lead him into the building through the shattered glass of one of the front doors. Cameron stepped carefully behind them both, remaining alert with one hand on the gun holstered at her hip. The three walked through the lobby, reduced to bare tile and devoid of furniture, and past a security door pulled off its hinges. Beyond the door was a short hallway and they passed doors marked 'Conf Room 1' and 'Shareholder Room' that lead into empty square rooms.

Two men stood at the end of the hallway, dressed in ill fitting and unmatched attire, with narrow, desperate faces. The beginning of beards showed on both their faces as they stared at the three approaching them.

"Is this him?" asked the one to John's right.

"Who's the girl?" The one to the left pointed at Cameron.

"We were hoping it'd just be you," Cheri whispered to John. "I don't know what they're going to think about that thing."

John nodded to Cheri and took a deep breath to keep himself steady. "I'm John Connor. That's Cameron, she's… a friend of mine."

"It's him!" said Right, giggling in glee and clapping his hands together.

Left smirked and jerked a thumb back at the door. "Yers in, then. Cheri'll take you to the boss man. Yers hot little friend gonna stay."

Cameron tilted her head and regarded Left with a blank expression and remained silent. The guard made no attempt to hide a wanton gaze that slid up and down the Terminator's form.

"Let's go..." Cheri tugged on John's hand, but he remained still.

"She's with me, you have to let her through," said John.

"W-we really should," whispered Right, voice childlike and frightened.

"Like shit we should. Boss man only said the one and it's just some punk kid, not no messiah like he said. He lets me does what I wants if I does what he says and he says let the punk in, so the punk's in. Little girl stays and I does what I wants with her." Left gave Cameron a lurid sneer as he slid a pistol out from under his shirt. Blood stained the grip.

"Just leave her, John. Let's go." Cheri tugged at his arm again.

Cameron began to step towards the armed guard, one hand on the gun at her own hip, as John ripped the pistol out from under his shirt and jammed it hard into the guard's jaw. Left's gaze had stuck so firmly to Cameron; he did not see John move at all.

"She's with me. Drop it and let her through." John pronounced each word slowly, pushing Left's head back with the muzzle of his gun as he spoke.

Left's gun clattered to the ground. "Heh. Heh heh. Yeah, yers the boss man now, Mr. Punk. Guess yers both through. Just, ya know, was makin' sure yers tough enough 'n shit. Yeah… just a little joke, see? Don't go hurtin' li'l ol' me, I'm yers buddy, ya see?"

Right giggled wordlessly and clapped his hands with manic glee.

John pulled the gun away from the guard and then slipped it back into his belt before giving the guard one last scowl. His hands disappeared into his pockets to hide that they were shaking. Cheri pulled him past the two guards, Cameron following behind once more, and into the large room beyond. His eyes widened as he looked around. "There must be two hundred people in here…"

Masses of blankets and humanity huddled and lay haphazardly around the room that stretched from one side of the building to another. None of the furniture remained with only the occasional steel pole descending from the ceiling to the floor covered in telephone jacks and power outlets. Trash and torn and discarded clothing and hospital gowns lay everywhere between where people slept and sat and pawed through battered bibles together.

"There were more." Silver haired and wearing a preacher's collar, the shepherd stood up from where he had been sitting with his flock and approached John. "But God has chosen that they should be martyrs for the cause and called them back to His side."

"Silberman."

John's last sight of the psychiatrist had been in Pescadero years ago while the psychiatrist tried to jab a sedative into his mother's arm. The Terminator, dubbed 'Uncle Bob' by John, had intervened and left Silberman staring dumbfounded. Silberman had been all but forgotten until his attempt to kill James Ellison.

"John." Silberman smiled and reached out to cover John's shoulder with one hand. "You've gotten older… but not much. How is that?"

"Rather not say." John shrugged out from under the shepherd's hand.

"Well, that's fair enough. And your friend you've brought. Is that the…?"

"Machine," said Cheri.

Cameron stopped watching the room for threats and turned her gaze on Silberman then. Her expression remained blank as she regarded the former psychiatrist, and under that gaze, Silberman visibly shivered.

Silberman forced a smiled back onto his features. "I've seen that look before. You don't say much, do you, miss?"

"No," said Cameron before turning her gaze back to the rest of the room.

"Probably for the best," muttered Silberman.

"Let's chat, Silberman," said John. "In private."

"Follow me." Silberman led them towards an empty conference room across from the door that they had just come through. They had to step gingerly over and around people and torn food wrappers that littered the floor.

As they reached the door, Silberman turned to Cheri. "Why don't you keep the young… lady… here company outside? I'd like to talk to John alone."

"But-but… you said I could… with John…" Cheri stammered with frustration before being shushed by Silberman holding a hand up.

John walked into the empty room ahead of Silberman, eyeing each corner of it warily with his hand on the grip of his gun. The preacher stepped in behind him and shut the door, leaving the girl and the machine that looked like a girl staring at each other outside.

"So, um, h-how have you been, Cameron?" asked Cheri.

The Terminator stared back at her silently.

* * *

**Present**

Alarms wailed through the headquarters of Cyber Research System as Catherine jogged after Carter. The chief of security put up a quick pace and seemed able to keep moving like this indefinitely. She had tossed her pumps two floors ago and now just had her nylons to protect her feet from the floor.

Floral patterns and pictures of wild lands and outdoor beauty filled the walls as they ran towards the lab. Pots full of real live plants were stuck in every available corner in the rooms they passed. The carpet was a thick rich green with sky blue walls. All designed to overcome the typical office environment and make it feel more warm and alive instead of the usual austerity of many tech firms. Catherine's heart ached at the thought of what was about to happen to it all if the other attack had been an indication.

So far they had not seen any sign of the attackers, but the stairwell had turned to a chorus of howling just as they had stepped out onto this floor and made their way to secure lab that the Turk was kept in. Every employee they had passed they had sent to the rear stairwell with instructions to get out the back. Carter had used his cellphone to send every security guard in the building there to hold the stairwell and then run.

"We're here," announced Carter as he swiped his security badge through a reader and punched in a code quickly.

Twin doors pulled aside to reveal a large research lab full of computer workstations and tables full of soldering tools and electrical mats. Several half built hulks sat on the tables. Along the back wall stood the heavy door of a walk in vault, currently shut. Strobes from fire alarms flashed back and forth, briefly casting odd shadows across the room with each flash.

Carter entered the room with his gun raised and scanned the room before motioning Catherine in behind him. She ran up towards the vault as the doors slid shut behind her and the lock re-engaged. A swipe of her own security badge and her personal security code caused the vault door to make a loud clunking noise before swinging open.

The Turk stood on a shelf next to multiple notebooks of research and design based on it. Both the Turk and the notes were the irreplaceable. The servers that held the electronic copies of the design data were all on site, and were on the first floor. If they had not been destroyed already, they soon would be.

"Carter, see if there's a bag in there. Anderson goes to the gym every day, see if it's under his desk." A small wheeled cart stood near the vault and Catherine sat the Turk on top and began to drop notebooks down next to it.

Carter rummaged under Anderson's desk and produced a large athletic bag with a shoe company logo on it. He dumped spare clothing and onto the desk out of the bag. "Found it. There are shoes and socks inside still. Put them on."

"Thank God. Running for my life in my nylons would kill me."

"Statistically, yes." Carter shoved the Turk and binders into the bag as Catherine started to pull on the socks.

"You really don't have any sense of humor, do you Carter?"

"Now is not a good time for jokes."

"Now is the perfect time. That or hyperventilate." With the socks on Catherine tugged on the running shoes. Too big. She pulled them back off and then pulled on the second set of socks that was in the bag.

"Please do not hyperventilate. It would be inefficient to carry you."

Catherine smirked at Carter as she tugged on the second set of socks and then the shoes. Fingers fumbled with the laces and she tried to tie them. Over and over her hands betrayed her and refused to get a proper knot.

"Fook it!" she screamed in frustration at the footwear.

Carter stared down her blankly and then looked at her shoes. He knelt and began to quickly tie them for her.

"We're not gettin' outta 'ere. Are we, Wilson?" she asked.

"We will. I promise. But you must remain calm."

Catherine took a deep breath and tried to center herself. "Wilson?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for this." She smiled at him. "For keeping me safe and trying to save the only thing keeping my company going. You're a good man."

He stared up at her for a long moment and then finally smiled in return. "You're welcome, Miss Weaver."

"Cat. Call me Cat."

"You're welcome, Cat."

Catherine felt like blushing as she watched him smile. Carter, she decided, really was a good looking man. A business had put all thoughts like that out of her mind, but here he was, grinning at her and all she could do was grin back like an idiot.

The smile vanished as he cocked his head and then looked at the door. "They're almost here."

Catherine checked the perfect laces that Carter had tied. "How can you tell?"

"I can hear them. Carry the bag."

Carter walked towards the double doors that lead into the lab and raised his pistol towards them. He squared his stance and stared down the barrel and waited.

"How could you possibly…?"

A heavy thump hitting the doors cut Catherine off, causing her to fall silent. She stood and hefted the bag over one shoulder. It felt like it weighed a ton and with raving lunatics possibly outside the door, Catherine felt like she was going to topple over with each step.

Catherine walked up behind Carter. "Maybe we could hide in the vault? There's a couple days worth of air and we could wait for the police."

"And if they set the building on fire?"

"Good point."

She jumped as another heavy thump hit the door hard enough to cause the doors to shake. Again and again the thumping came until the cracking of the doors began to accompany it. They were made of steel, but hollow, so less than two layers of eighth of an inch metal stood between them and what lay outside.

"Hide behind a desk." Carter's voice was a whisper. "Don't come out until I call your name."

Catherine scrambled underneath one of desks and squeezed her legs up to her chest. It felt like a bad horror movie come to life and she let the emotions that had been threatening to overwhelm her come out as she huddled next to the Turk's bag. Sobs came unbidden as she covered her face with her hands and tears poured freely down her cheeks.

"Why are ye doin' this tae me, God? Ah try tae be a good person. Ah try tae be a good boss. Please, anythin' ye want from me, Ah'll give it. Jus' 'elp me. 'Elp all the people that work 'ere."

Her words were whispered into the darkness beneath the desk. Desperate and quick. The sounds of the furious beating on the doors beyond grew louder and louder until a heavy crash signaled that they had toppled over.

As the report of Carter's gun sounded over and over Catherine folded her hands together and bowed her head in prayer.

* * *

**Five Hours Ago…**

"How's your mother?"

It was not the question John expected Silberman to start with. "Um. She's good. She hates your guts, ya know."

"I know. And she still has a hell of a right hook." Silberman chuckled and paced across the empty conference room. "I am glad you joined us, John. I was skeptical that you'd get that note Cheri asked to leave but… the Lord delivers."

"Yeah, that. Listen, mom always said you were a pretty smart guy if a bit of an ass, but you've just gone… well… this isn't what anyone expected outta you."

Silberman shrugged. "Hanging out with psychotics and loonies? Between you and I, we have to work with what the Lord gives us. I'd much rather be speaking to decent, normal folk, but we know that they won't believe what we have to say. That is Cassandra's curse."

"Uh-huh. Yet you still tried to set James Ellison on fire."

"A mistake on my part. Rash. I wasn't thinking straight."

John smirked. "Yeah. Ellison ended up saving my ass. Twice. He's a good man so don't screw with him again."

"Done." Silberman held his hands out wide in surrender. "And you can give him my apologies if you see him again."

"So… yer trying to save the world with that rabble out there? Those psychos and loonies."

"Yes, basically. We're doing the Lord's work as best we can. With you here now, you can show us the path, John. You are the messiah come to oppose the Anti-Christ. Skynet, you call it."

John narrowed his eyes as he watched Silberman. The former shrink was slick, he had to admit. He wore a Roman collar to sell the image and spoke with utmost conviction. Someone who would know how to play off the different brands of crazy that sat just outside the door could probably get them to do whatever he wanted, and Silberman was just the type of person who would know and could sell it.

He took a deep breath before diving into the deep end. "I think you need to stop. These people need help, not weapons and your cause."

Silberman raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"Do you even know if killing all those folks even accomplished anything?" John squared his shoulders and gave Silberman a hard stare. "No, you don't. All you did was murder a bunch of innocent folks."

"Sacrifices have to made, John. You're young, idealistic still. I understand that what we do may seem harsh –"

"'Seem harsh'? You've really bought your own bullshit, Silberman. I'm no messiah, just a kid with a screwed up life. So, either you can tell them or I can walk out and the savior they worship is going to tell them to turn themselves in."

Anger flashed in the preacher's eyes. "John, that's not how these things work. You're who I say you are. And if I say you're a liar, then it would be hard to guarantee your safety."

"And if I yelled right now, what do you think Cameron'd do to you?"

"Yes, you do have a machine with you. Like you did before." Silberman smirked and crossed his arms. "But I thought of that. And there's nothing she can do."

"I didn't see any howitzers out there."

"I don't need one. Your father… he's a handsome boy. Good throwing arm for a five year old."

John felt cold suddenly as he watched Silberman. His hands shook as he wiped at the chilled sweat that dotted his forehead. "You don't know anything about my father."

"He looked just like you, John. Older, different eyes, but the face and the voice are almost the same. Kyle Reese ranted a lot more than you do, but there's no doubt Sarah told me the truth when she said who her son's father was. She so desperately wanted someone, anyone, to believe her. To not think she was crazy." A half glimmer of a smile appeared on Silberman's lips.

"Coincidence. He's not my father…"

"You're not a very good liar, John. Now, I've only just viewed him from afar, and I have some men I trust keeping a watch on him and his older brother. Let's not get them involved, shall we? If your machine comes in here and I am not around to keep my men in line, I fear for what could happen. They might get… creative."

John scowled at Silberman and made no attempt to hide the hate he felt. "You don't act like I'm your own personal Jesus."

"I'm not crazy, John. You're just a boy." Silberman motioned towards the door. "But they needed a symbol. Something to drive them. And I needed to get out of Pescadero."

"Then why keep it up? You're free."

"I do believe your mother, John. Skynet is real and I've seen the machines it makes. I do want to save the world. Those loonies out there are my ticket to that."

John stared at Silberman, silent for a long moment. The preacher was not as crazy as he had first thought, but he was a grade-a certified bastard. Hearing Silberman talk about his father had thrown his guard off. He knew he would do anything to keep that young boy safe. To protect him from the horrors that John had experienced all his life, and if possible, from Judgment Day itself.

Anything at all.

"I know a place where they're working something related to Skynet…" John's voice cracked as he spoke and he said nothing about the terminator that had been seen there.

"You're sure of this?"

"Positive. Mom checked it out yesterday." John started with the truth so the lie would be all the more convincing. "When your attack came on the news, the security went crazy and started getting everything packed up. Said they'd clear out today by the afternoon."

"Where is it?"

"It's a company called CRS. In Santa Monica."

The preacher smiled. "Then it is time to bring the wrath of the Lord down upon them."

John scowled at Silberman. _And I hope that Carter rips your heart out of your chest._

* * *

**Present**

_Dear God,_ Catherine would start, and then the gunfire would return louder than ever. Her eardrums vibrated with the heavy bass of shotgun booms and the staccato popping of a handgun in return. Each shot fired caused Catherine to tense beneath the desk she had chosen as her hiding place.

She kept her hands folded in front of her and prayed and prayed and prayed some more.

When the gunfire stopped, the sounds got worse. Sickening sounds. Cracking sounds and men screaming for pity that never came. Crunching sounds and tearing sounds. Catherine closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands, wanting to do anything other than imagine the horrors that must be befalling Wilson Carter to cause those noises.

Silence came and Catherine kept her face covered. They would come for her now that they were done. Heavy footsteps approached and she could feel a presence just beyond where she was hiding. It waited for her patiently. She imagined it would be more ravenous and brutal and the silence unnerved her even more.

Legs and feet covered by blue slacks and a pair of shiny dress shoes stood before her when she peeked over her hand. Blood covered them in streaks and there were chunks of something peeking out of one of the cuffs.

Wilson Carter squatted down and stared at her impassively. "We need to leave."

"Holy fook, yer alive. Thank God above." Catherine looked up towards the ceiling and mouthed 'thank you!'

Carter's grip encircled her wrist and he pulled her irresistibly up and to her feet. She dragged the bag filled with the Turk and the research notes with her as she rose. Warm blood slid over her hand and arm from Carter's and she shuddered.

"Carter? Are you all right?"

He looked back at her and stated blandly, "I'm fine."

Blood leaked down his right arm, which he held Catherine's wrist with. Small holes dotted his shirt and jacket a bloody red wound beneath each of them. Similar holes covered most of his neck and his earlobe on the right side was missing. A jagged cut crawled down his jaw and for a moment it seemed there was a glimmer of metal beneath it.

"Oh, Christ. Wilson, yer hurt." She reached for his face.

He jerked back from her touch. "I am capable of operating sufficiently. Do not be concerned. Let's go."

Catherine followed as he released her wrist and turned to stride towards the door. She came up short as slaughter and carnage beyond her reckoning confronted her throughout the room. Bodies littered the floor. She lost count after the first dozen. Single gunshots had felled many of them but others looked like they had been savaged. Heads were crushed and chests caved in. Several had limbs ripped clean from their bodies.

"H-how… how did ye do this, Carter?" said Catherine.

"I am well versed in hand to hand combat techniques."

_Holy shit!_ was Catherine's last thought before she retched.

She did not stop until she felt Carter's hand on her back. He looked down at her and spoke in a soft tone. "Cat, we have to leave now."

Wiping her lips with the back of her sleeve, she nodded and followed Carter.

Wherever he would lead.

* * *

**5 Hours Ago…**

John could hear Silberman rousing the troops with speeches of redemption and the glory of God in the room outside the conference room they had met in. As he leaned against one of the walls, he thumped the back of his head against the sheetrock. A thousand tons of stone felt like they weighed on his shoulders and head.

It is just hard numbers, like Derek said, he told himself over and over. Turning these maniacs loose would save lives in the long run. He had to look at it that way, because if he did the right thing…

Doing the right thing. He heard a vague homage to that as he grew up. Sarah would say it while they bopped around the jungle with Sandinistas that kidnapped people for money and sold cocaine to fund their failing revolutions. Getting him ready for Judgment Day was doing the right thing, after all.

Slip out the back, call the cops, and tell them right where Silberman was and what his target was going to be. That would be the right thing to do now. Innocent lives would be saved and John could even think of himself as a hero. John's hand strayed to his pocked and a thumb rubbed over the bulge in his pocket that his cell phone made.

Just one call and this would be over. He could even sneak back into the house and smile at his mom when the news came on and explain how he had saved the day. She would be mad at first, but eventually she would be proud of him. You have to be decisive to lead and he had been.

And then he was going to pray to God that Silberman had been bluffing about Kyle. Maybe even rush out to the neighborhood that the Reeses lived in and have Cameron help him comb it for unwanted guests and tip the cops off to where they were.

And then they would be back at square one. Find the Turk. Find out what CRS is up to and why they had a pet terminator. All the people that had died bringing CyberDyne down had not been enough and they were still struggling and fighting and trying to give Fate the middle finger.

A couple hundred psychopaths murdering their way through a company was a pretty big middle finger. There would be a lot of people in there that probably had nothing to do with bringing Skynet into the world. Secretaries, janitors, the Mexican ladies who water the plants. Innocent people who did not deserve to be involved. Like Kyle.

The guards outside had shown John just how psychotic these guardians against the apocalypse were and how they would not distinguish between victim and innocent. They would kill and maim and murder through anything in their way, just like at IBM. John knew he would be responsible for the innocent dying along with the guilty.

Sacrifice.

All this to save three billion human lives. Hard numbers. Human lives turned into statistics and ratios. A few hundred for a billion. Easy trade, right?

_Then why do I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet?_ John thought to himself.

The door to the conference room creaked open and Cheri stuck her head in. John's head jerked up and he stared at her. He pushed himself off the wall he leaned against and straightened his shoulders.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

Cheri slipped in and shut the door behind her. "Cameron said I could talk to you alone for a few. She frisked me before she let me in."

"She's like that. 'Sup?"

"Just wanted to talk, John." Cheri shrugged and chewed on her lower lip.

"Gathered that. 'Bout what?"

Cheri gave him a shy smile before padding across the room and looking up at him with wide eyes. She seemed tentative, almost nervous, with jerky little movements. "Us."

"Huh?" John felt like he was missing some connection that only she knew about.

"You and me. I missed you, John." She slipped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him. Her cheek nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

John's eyes went wide as the connection clicked. She felt so warm and was shaped just right and there was no hyper alloy combat chassis hiding beneath her skin. A real girl was kissing his neck and sliding her hands underneath his shirt.

"Cheri…" His throat felt like it was made of sandpaper. "…what are you doing?"

"Taking what was promised to me. Keeping you safe and sound here while the word is spread. Lots of things, really… but mainly doing what I've wanted to do since before Daddy died."

Hands tugged at his jeans and loosened the belt there. "What was promised you? What are you talking about?"

"You, John. Silberman said we could be together."

"We were just study partners, Cheri. We hardly knew each other…"

"Don't say that! I killed Daddy for you, John Connor. You're the messiah. The one who saves us all. That's all I need to know**.** I love you."

_Men succor their end from you… And they love you for it. _The dream all over again given flesh and blood in the form of Cheri and Silberman's flock. Was he turning that vision into a reality?

"Really?" he whispered to her.

"Let me show you."

Cheri stood on the tips of her toes and covered John's lips with her own. Warmth filled him as they kissed. They never noticed the door cracking open or the brown eyes that watched them as they pressed tightly to each other. The door then quietly clicked back into place.

John pushed at Cheri's shoulders, breaking away from her. "Cheri… I'm not…"

He watched the young woman's features and the disappointment beginning to cloud them. And the blood that stained the clothes she wore, from whatever innocents had died either by her hands or those near her. John did not know her at all, and certainly not whatever it was she had become, and had no idea of what would happen if he finished saying what he had planned on.

So, instead, he said, "… ready for that. Let's just sit here and talk and be with each other. Ok?"

Cheri smiled at him. "Ok."

* * *

**Present**

Flames roared from shattered windows along the top floor of the CRS headquarters. Shotguns echoed up and down the street, occasionally answered by the pop-pop-pop of smaller handguns. Two police cruisers were overturned and burning in front of the lobby entrance. Sirens, insistent and numerous, sounded in the distance and grew louder and louder with every moment. A helicopter's rotary blades sounded directly above.

The machine stared at the devastation, recorded it, and disregarded it as no threat to its own safety. It strode through the shattered burning hulks in the parking lot and into the lobby. Smoke and flame had not touched it yet, but blood and spatter showed massacre had torn through.

A man hunched by the prostrate corpse of a woman. A secretary, perhaps, by her appearance and the telephone headset still attached to one ear. The jagged wound of a close range shotgun blast had torn out most of her lower torso.

Narrow features and grimy clothes defined him as he tugged at the skirt of the corpse. He licked his lips repeatedly and muttered to himself. "Oh, baby. Gots somethings fer yers. Yers gonna loves it."

Broken glass and shattered ceiling tiles crunched beneath the boots of the machine as it approached the human and his corpse. The directive of 'INTERROGATE' flashed insistently on the machine's HUD.

A gun whipped out and towards the machine as the man turned at the sound if its approach. Blood marred the grip of the Beretta 92F.

"Whos the fucks is you?" he demanded as he stood.

The machine ignored the weapon. "Where is John Connor?"

"Fucks you. Yous a cop?" Uneven yellowed teeth revealed themselves as he sneered at the machine.

"Negative."

"Toos bads. Wanted to kill me a piggy but didn't runs fast enoughs." The gun barked twice as he opened fire on the machine, both bullets impacting squarely into the center of the broad chest.

He looked on in horror as the machine ignored the gunshots and wrapped one massive hand around the wrist holding the gun and squeezed until bones turned to powder and sent the pistol falling to the ground. Its other hand tangled in the man's lanky hair and pulled him up off his feet.

Screams turned to whimpers as the machine let go of his wrist and then lowered him to the ground. He cradled the pulped hand against his chest and stared up at his attacker.

It held a sketch in one hand now. The picture of a beautiful young woman with brown hair and wide brown eyes. One the man had seen as he had guarded a door and wanted to have a good time with.

"Where is John Connor? And is this woman with him?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Emergence, Chapter 5**

Tires squealed as Sarah swung the Jeep around hard and into the driveway of her home. The seatbelt pulled taut across her chest and threatened to cut her in twain as she slammed the brakes down and skidded to a halt in front of the garage door. With the engine rumbling at an idle, Sarah stared at the whitened knuckles that gripped the steering wheel through strands of sweat soaked hair.

It was then that she realized that she had been holding her breath. As air came in ragged gasps, Sarah could not remember how long it had been since her last breath. A thousand years might well have passed for how much her lungs burned.

John was missing. That fact gnawed at her gut and caused muscles to tense and twist with fear and misgiving. Not just missing, but gone, off on his own. And Sarah knew what he was going to try to do. To find the escapees from Pescadero just like he had suggested. Just like how he had rushed off to plant the cell phone in Carter's truck full of coltan.

Cameron had vanished along with John according to Derek. Probably with John. Hopefully with John. Sarah did not fear for John's physical safety.

She feared for something much harder to protect.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Sarah jerked and reached for the gun under her jacket. She pressed the muzzle to the glass to find Derek standing next to the driver's door and tapping repeatedly on the window. The gun lowered as she stared at John's uncle.

Derek scowled and then made a circular motion with one hand. He mouthed the words, _Roll down the window._

As the window slid down she expected some snarky reprimand about the gun or about her driving. Instead he watched her mutely as the glass disappeared into the door, expression dark with his brows drawn together.

"We need to find John." Sarah's voice was a strained croak as she muttered the words.

"Scoot over. I'll drive."

"No, I'm fine," she lied. "We don't have much time."

"We don't, but you need to calm down. I'll drive; you take a moment."

Sarah's voice rose to a shout. "Calm down?! How could I be? How can you be?"

"You don't think I'm worried or scared? He's my blood, too." He jabbed his chest with one finger to punctuate his statement. "But right now I can't afford to be afraid. Both of us need to do what needs to be done. Now scoot the fuck over and let's go. CRS is our only lead, so we're going there."

Derek pulled open the door as Sarah flipped the lock and slid over into the passenger's seat. A shotgun dangled from his off hand and he dropped it between them before pulling himself up and behind the wheel of the Jeep.

The Jeep pulled out of the driveway before being shifted into gear and accelerating down the residential streets of Los Angeles. Houses and pavement whipped past while Derek drove and kept the speedometer pegged at something just below breakneck speeds, moving as fast as safety would allow.

Sarah stared out the window, watching the world turn into a blur, and trying to find somewhere inside her that she could stuff her fear and apprehension. Someplace that would hold it and not let it overwhelm her.

"He does this a lot, you know."

It took a moment before Sarah realized that Derek had spoken. She turned to him. "Does what?"

"Goes off. Does things." Derek kept his eyes on the road as he spoke, quickly adjusting lanes to zip past other drivers. "Whatever he feels needing to be done. He'll grab men that he thinks are up to the job and leads them off."

"Future John."

"Yeah. Him. The John Connor I've met doesn't fear anything and doesn't explain himself to people either. If he feels he needs to be the one to do something, he goes out and does that something. He took Kyle with him a lot, and I never could get him to tell me what they did most of the time. Just bits and pieces of stories about missions when he we would get smashed on moonshine."

"What did they do?" Sarah watched Derek now, and the far away expression on his face.

"Scouting, usually. John liked to see how things were for himself. Sometimes they'd sneak in and sabotage something. One big fight in the Hollywood Hills I saw John pull his nametag off his fatigues and march right down and fight alongside the men. Hadn't been for him, we might've lost, too. Lost a lot of good men that day, but would've been more without John."

Derek glanced at Sarah, who watched him without responding. He put his eyes back on the road and continued.

"It wasn't until a week later we found that big fight was a feint. Three hundred men dead and maybe a thousand hurt. With as few humans left as there was, that was a hell of a lot. I mean _a lot_ of casualties. But a small group lead by Perry took out an H-K refueling station and maintenance facility before any of them could dust off. Crippled Skynet's air force for a good while.

"The men loved him even more after that. I thought he was a bastard. Kyle would just stare at that snap of you whenever I tried to talk to him about it. It wasn't for a few months before we really saw what it meant. Centaurs and metal walking around without air cover and we could attack them openly during the day. We won a lot of fights like that and a lot of people were saved."

"I don't think that makes me feel any better, Reese." She turned away, not wanting to look at the soldier any more. "You make my son sound cold hearted."

"I'm not done."

"What else is there to say?"

"John's birthday wasn't long after that. We got fall down drunk. All the men did. We found an old liquor store and had cases of real beer and we emptied 'em all. I woke up early; everyone else was still passed out. John was up against the wall, out cold, and he had these rumpled pieces of paper in his hand. I looked at 'em."

Derek fell silent and did not continue as he drove the Jeep up the entrance ramp to the Santa Monica Freeway. Cars zipped past as the Jeep pushed close to 80 mph.

"And…?" Sarah prompted.

"In that chicken scratch he calls handwriting were names. So many names. Written as small as you could and still read them. All the men who had died under his command. Every one. He never forgot them. Never put them away. I never figured for the longest time why Kyle's name was at the top and in the largest letters."

Derek turned to look at her briefly. "He's still his mother's son, Sarah. We'll find him."

* * *

The hallways beyond the lab and the pile of corpses were empty of life. Chilling sounds of screams and yelping echoed down the corridors, but they came from distant rooms and corners, far from the sight of Catherine Weaver. She gave a quick furtive glance up with each sound.

Carter strode in front of her, a captured shotgun clutched in his hands. Crisp, long strides chewed up the distance towards the back stairway and he moved as if he was not bleeding from over a dozen wounds. Catherine feared he would collapse from shock or blood loss at any moment, but he kept moving forward like some unstoppable machine.

The exit light glowed green above the heavy steel door to the stairwell. Carter stopped in front of it and leaned towards it. He cocked his head and remained silent for a long moment.

"There are people in the stairwell," he said finally.

Hope showed on Catherine's features. "The guards you sent here?"

"No. They're either dead or fled by now."

Carter raised the shotgun in one hand and pushed the door open with the other. Sounds of movement and shuffling echoed up through the stairwell. Above it all a man's voice, clear and powerful, made its way over the din.

"…far too many have been allowed to escape. Any of them could have been the key. Check every floor! Kill every person you come across! And let no others past this staircase and out the back exit!"

"Fook, they're comin' fer us, Wilson." Catherine kept herself behind the doorframe. "We should try another way…"

Carter stepped into the stairwell and stared leaned over the rail to stare down between the flights of stairs. "No. This will be fine. I'll call for you."

"What the 'ell are ye plannin'?"

"Clearing a path."

Before Catherine could protest, he vaulted over the rail and dropped down between the flights of stairs. She rushed to the rail as the loud thud boomed throughout the room and peered down at where he had landed on top of one of the cultists that occupied the bottom floor, crushing the man flat.

Vicious, evil looking men and women surrounded Carter and the body that lay broken beneath him. His knee was driven into the corpse's back, making it seem that he was kneeling before them. Carter raised the shotgun as the mob stared at him dumbly and fired it point blank into the mass of bodies.

Blood fountained as his targets tumbled away from him. Another blast sent more to meet their fate. Again and again he fired into the surprised victims of his assault. Viscera painted the walls of the stairwell.

A final rack of the shotgun popped the last spent cartridge from the ejection port. It clattered to the tile floor as Carter dropped it and stared forward, head tilted curiously, as more men shoved and growled as they pushed into the room.

"Kill him!" called the same voice that came before and the mob surged to engulf Carter.

"Wilson!" Catherine found the name ripped from her as she watched.

Bodies overwhelmed her head of security, surrounding him and causing him to vanish from Catherine's sight. The clutched at him and tore at him with fists and fingernails. Knives and sharpened nightsticks stabbed and slashed. Punching. Cutting. Tearing. Biting. There were so many that no man could hope to withstand it.

Catherine started down the stairs. Resolved not to watch him die for her, she hefted the bag with the Turk and the binders full of notes. Its weight caused the strap to dig hard into her shoulder. Swung with all her strength, it might be able to crack someone's skull.

She did not care how many there were. All she knew was that she was done running. Done letting these psychopaths destroy her company and everything she had spent her life working for. If she had to go down with it, she was going to take a few of the bastards with her.

One hand on the rail, she watched the struggle at the bottom of the stairwell as she jogged down as quickly as her heavy burden would let her. A body flew from the pile and slammed into the far wall and tumbled to the floor in a heap. Catherine slowed to a halt as she stared in wonder at it.

Another quickly followed it as Carter tossed men and women off him like rag dolls. Limbs and heads collapsed beneath heavy, closed fisted blows before being tossed aside. He waded through them, and Catherine quickly lost count as she stared dumbfounded at what was occurring just beneath her.

Screams of anger and rage transformed into horror and pain. The sounds of bones breaking and skin tearing followed them as the bodies piled in clumps and groups. Twisted in strange embraces and turned inside out. They found no mercy, pity, or remorse as they were torn asunder and left broken beneath an unstoppable assault.

Above it all the shrieks of, "He's one of them! One of them!" echoed over and over.

Carter twisted the last man's head until bones crackled before tossing the corpse out through the door that led to the ground floor. Corpses lay in piles around him and blood drained from the room and out into the hallway. He stood and stared silently out into the hall.

With her heart lurching in her chest, Catherine sprinted down the stairs, nearly stumbling over corpses that lay broken and twisted along the bottom steps. She followed Carter's gaze and laying pinned underneath the thrown body lay a man dressed in the black and Roman collar of a priest. Silver hair hung limply around his slack, unconscious face and blood drained from a scalp cut where his head had hit the wall. Probably from getting a corpse tossed at him.

"We need to go, Cat," said Carter.

She looked up at him and the fresh wounds that covered him. Blood soaked his clothes and dripped from numerous lacerations. Both lips were split and his right ear reduced to a tattered mess of flesh and gristle. Fingernails had been ripped away to reveal bloody messes beneath. Carter's clothes were nearly shredded revealing deep slices through his chest and arms. One hand was held against his jawline, holding the flesh together where the cut had widened and Carter's own blood seeped out between his fingers.

"Wilson? What… how…?"

Annoyance flickered ever so briefly over Carter's damaged features. "I do not have time to explain. Only to get you to safety."

Carter turned without another word and strode out the door. He spared not a glance for the preacher on the ground, but motioned for Catherine to follow him.

Catherine stumbled as she was lead out into the hallway and the bag with the Turk threatened to pull her off her feet. And then Carter was there, arms around her, and holding her up. There was a glint of metal that Catherine could not place. He took the bag from her and slung it effortlessly over one shoulder before letting her stand on her own.

They both jogged to the fire exit that was only a dozen feet from the stairs. Carter shoved open the door and they stalked through the short hallway that led straight to the outside world. It had been propped open with a chair and light streamed into the hall. Catherine sprinted past Carter and out into the sun.

She squinted at the brightness around her and held one hand up to shield her eyes from the glare. Blue and red lights flashed all around as police cars squealed to a halt in front of her. Men in uniforms with guns drawn rushed up to her.

"Ma'am! Are you all right?" asked one of the cops.

"Oh, thank God! It's… so many dead in there." Catherine looked down at the blood that covered her shoes and legs. She turned. "Wilson, everything's going to be…"

The gym bag that held the Turk sat on the ground behind Catherine.

As police officers swarmed around her and funneled into the building, Catherine realized that Wilson Carter was gone.

* * *

Sarah Connor rode in silence after Derek's story and watched as cars zipped past them on the freeway. CRS was nowhere near their new home and she wondered whether she should pray that they got there in time.

_God stopped listening to me a long time ago, _thought Sarah. _Either that I'm the second coming of Job. Whichever, it's up to us._

She reached for the radio and flicked it on and adjusted the dial until the local news radio station started. The reporter droned on about a massive shootout in Santa Monica and a second attack by the terrorists responsible for the IBM massacre. All the information was vague and sounded almost third hand.

"Doesn't sound like they know much," said Derek.

"No, no, it doesn't. How much further?"

The Jeep ducked between two cars and then slid onto an exit ramp. Derek ignored a red stop light and blew through it and onto a side street full of businesses, yet seemed to be deserted. In the distance sirens sounded continuously and smoke billowed from the next intersection. Red and blue lights reflected off windows of nearby office buildings.

"Not much," Derek said as he scanned the sidewalks. "We're close. Everyone near here has bugged out. 'cept that guy in the truck."

A black pick-up truck rumbled past them, coming from the direction that the CRS building stood. A broad shouldered man in leathers piloted it down the street and past several stop signs without even slowing.

Sarah found her gaze drawn to the truck and turned to follow it as it approached. The driver seemed so familiar. Dark glasses hid the man's eyes and he scanned the street back and forth slowly as he drove.

As the Jeep and truck passed each other, the driver of the truck stared right at Sarah. And without any doubt, she knew what it was that drove the truck. A creature that had lurked in her nightmares for years, yet had once given her and her son hope for a better future.

A terminator. No, just _a_ terminator. _The_ Terminator. One of the ones that had started everything. And Sarah knew where the machine would be going. If it was a destroyer, it would search for John. A protector, and it would do the same.

It's what they did. It's all they did.

And it was not going to CRS. It had eliminated that as a possibility.

"Follow that truck, Derek."

* * *

"Dude," Morris whispered to John. "It takes nerves of steel to wear that around here."

John stared after Morris as his friend gave him a thumbs up and walked away down the hallways of the Campo de Cahuenga High School. Traffic made up of teenagers and teachers shuffled past him going both directions. He looked around in confusion as the seemingly normal day that surrounded him.

And then he looked down at himself.

A Catholic school girl's outfit, complete with pleated skirt, covered him. The skirt seemed far too short and his legs felt cold. Tugging on the skirt in a futile effort to cover more of his thighs, John watched as class mates and school kids gathered around him in a circle.

"Hey, nice clothes Baum," one boy called.

Another wolf whistled. "Hey, sexy. You on the cheerleading squad?"

"Nice legs!"

"Your mommy dress you?"

Something soggy slapped him upside the temple and tumbled to the ground. John peered at it to find that he had been struck by a pickle. More began to rain down on his shoulders and chest and against his back. His clothing stuck to him as vinegar soaked through.

"John."

A clear voice called through the crowd and the pickles stopped. Standing amongst the students was Cameron, wearing the grey and white camouflage BDUs he remembered seeing her in last. She held a comicly huge vat of pickles in her hands.

"John," she said as she poured the pickles and vinegar out over the floor of the corridor. "We should go."

And that was when John Connor opened his eyes

Brown eyes gazed down at where he sat against the wall of the empty conference room. The nudge of a grey combat boot against his thigh caused him to mutter and push at the leg it was attached to.

"'m awake," he muttered. John had not realized how tired he was after being unable to sleep and then staying awake through the rest of the night. He had been talking to Cheri about what school was like without her when he must have dozed off.

"You were muttering while you slept," said Cameron.

"Ngh… what'd I say?"

"'No more pickles.' What does that mean?"

John smirked. "Means dreams sometimes don't mean anything. Where's…?"

The weight against his chest helped him find Cheri, who slept with the most peaceful look he had ever seen from her. She had nestled up under his right arm and lain her head on his chest. One of her hands lay flat on his stomach.

John admitted to himself it was not an entirely unpleasant experience having a beautiful young woman nestled against him. Not even close to one, in fact.

The Terminator squatted down next to him and whispered, "We should go. Before they return. You succeeded in your mission."

"How long've I been out?"

"Five hours, twenty-three minutes."

"So long?" John rubbed at his eyes with one hand.

"I wanted them to be busy in their assault before I woke you. The news media began reporting it on the radio just a little while ago."

"There's someplace we have to go."

"Where?" Cameron tilted her head as she regarded John.

"Someplace important." John shook Cheri's shoulder gently. "Cheri. Wake up."

Cameron's hand wrapped around his upper arm and she pulled him out from under the real human girl. A narrowed expression greeted John as Cameron pulled him to his feet to face her. Cheri slumped back against the wall and began to stir.

"Hey! What the hell?!" John's voice and volume rose with the manhandling.

"We can not bring her," the Terminator stated blandly.

"Why not?"

"She's compromised her loyalties and may report important information to Silberman."

"She's… she's…" John realized he had not defined to himself what to think of the young girl. Mental problems obviously plagued her and she had killed at least one person; her own father. She had done it for him though and had been trying to do the right thing, regardless of how messed up that seemed. She needed help, and leaving her with the remaining psychos that might survive the day was not what she needed.

On top of that, she had been so warm. So… real. He had always thought that she was gorgeous and had spent more than just a little time pondering what could be if both their lives had not been several levels of screwed up. If he really had been just a guy from Lawrence and she had really been just some girl from Wichita.

In a world without the machines, things would have been a lot different.

"…. my friend," John stated firmly. "She needs help and she's not going to get it here."

"Do you want to help her or kiss her, John?"

He stared at his bodyguard, dumbstruck and silent. Cameron stared back at him, unblinking gaze intense enough to force him to look away. The question had been direct and cut straight through him. He should be able to answer that one way or the other and feel no shame. Did he want to help her, or be with her?

Instead of answering, though, it was much easier to just be defensive about things. "What's that supposed to mean? Were you spying on us?"

"Yes, routinely. It assists with my primary mission."

"Damn you. Don't spy on me like that anymore."

"You know I don't take orders from you. Especially not when you try to endanger yourself by associating with someone obviously suffering from several acute mental disorders. Mania, paranoia, delusions…"

John scowled at the machine. "Stop it! Don't treat me like some sort of child."

"Am I?" said Cameron as she tilted her head as she regarded him. "I'm just trying to keep you safe, John."

"Yeah, well, I can make the decisions on what's safest for myself." John pointed at his own chest with one thumb as he spoke.

"mmf… are you two… fighting 'r somethin'?" Cheri pushed herself up to her feet as she woke.

John looked over at her and gave a crooked smile before looked back at the inscrutable brown eyes of the Terminator in front of him. Had they been fighting? Yes, came the answer back at John, they had been. And as soon as that realization came, he felt guilt somewhere deep in his chest.

Here he was, practically yelling at a machine. A machine that had saved his life repeatedly and stuck to him through thick and thin. A machine that was his…

… his _what_?

Bodyguard? Best friend? _Only_ friend? Literally, the girl of his dreams? Someone that was completely unfathomable at times and at others she seemed to be filled with this childlike obsession to learn and grow and be more than she was. An obsession and an evolution that he was utterly and completely fascinated by.

Is that why Cheri had felt so good pressed against him? Because she was _real_?

And what did real mean, anyways?

"Yeah," John admitted with a sheepish grin. "We were fighting. Sorry, Cam. I mean that, too. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, John. If I treated you like a child, I apologize." Her voice was soft and her brows raised to give her an expression that seemed almost kind.

And there it was again before it flitted away quickly, leaving her face blank once more. That hint. That _maybe_. That thing that made him forget that she was a machine and not just a girl.

He wondered whether he hated that teasing glimpse or hungered to see it again and again. It could give a guy fits trying to think about it and standing in an empty conference room between a terminator and a convert to the Cult of Him was not the time or the place to think too hard on it.

"Cheri, we're leaving," said John.

"To where?"

John rubbed at the back of his neck. "I don't think you…"

A cell phone's chime interrupted John and he pulled his phone free of his pants pocket. The screen was blank. He had turned it off hours ago so his mother could not reach him. When he looked up and over at Cheri, he saw her digging a cheap phone from her own pocket. It had the logo of a convenience store and a second rate phone company on it.

"Yeah?" she said as she answered it. After a few moments she held it away from her ear and a voice on the other end could almost be heard through the room as it shouted into the phone.

"Silberman?" asked John.

Cheri nodded. "He wants to talk to you."

"What is it, Silberman?" John said as he took the phone.

"_There was a machine there!" _Silberman's voice was almost a screech through the phone. _"Almost everyone's dead between it and the fucking cops, Connor. What did you send me into?"_

"And you think I knew about this?"

"_Yes, I do. You're not stupid and neither is your mother. You said she saw the place, checked it out. If she did, she found the machine. Why the hell didn't you warn us?"_

John smirked. "You got me there, doc. Why didn't I tell you? Well, there's only one thing you're supposed to do with a mad dog. You put it down."

"_You manipulative son of a bitch."_

"My mom's not a bitch." John dropped the phone to the ground and stomped hard. Cheap plastic and silicon collapsed under the weight of his heel and the phone squawked loudly as it died.

Cheri stared at him, eyes wide with horror and shock. "What did you do?"

"Silberman's crazy and so were his followers, Cheri. I'm sorry you got suckered into this. Go find someplace safe and try to live a happy life. April twenty-first, twenty-eleven you need to get out of any city. Get far away and have supplies ready." The words came tumbling out of John rapidly.

"No… no… this isn't… isn't…. not supposed to. John, you're supposed to be with me. Silberman _promised_!" Tears welled in Cheri's eyes.

"Silberman's a liar and insane," said Cameron.

John turned to Cameron. "We have to go. Silberman's threatened someone and I need to keep them safe. It's important."

Hands clutched John's shirt and pulled him back towards the wall. "No. No no no no no. You can't go. Just stay. We'll fix it all. You and me. Just stay. I love you, John. So much. You and I are destiny. Yes, us both. Please stay. Please please. John… stay. Or… Or or or. I can go with you. Yes. Together. Please?"

_Gone. She's gone._ Those were the first thoughts that came to John's mind as he looked down at the wide eyed, frenzied expression on Cheri's face as she tugged at him and pulled him close to her. Something inside Cheri Westin had snapped when her father had died and the girl that John had known was gone. In front of him was some mentally diseased stranger.

And then Cameron was there between them. She pulled the insane girl's fingers clear of John's clothing and shoved her hard against the wall. John winced as he heard the sound her skull bouncing off the sheetrock. Cheri hit the ground dazed.

"I'm sorry, Cheri," whispered John as Cameron dragged him clear of the conference room.

"_I killed them all for you, John! You can't leave me! I murdered for you! Covered in blood because of you! Wash it away! Dirty! You make it clean! Come back! He promised!" _Cheri's almost incoherent screams followed them.

"I've disabled the remaining guards already, John. Explain where we're going when we get in the car." Cameron stated calmly as she lead him towards the lobby of the old CyberDyne building.

Unconscious men lay on each side of the door that led into the lobby. They stepped over their prostrate forms and jogged into the lobby. Beyond lay the parking lot and the stolen car they had used to find Silberman's followers.

Sarah would probably kick his ass for this, but in the end, John was sure she would be happier to see him back in one piece. And the plan had mostly worked. Silberman's followers were wiped out. All they had to do was get out and make sure Kyle Reese saw neither hide nor hair of Silberman and his remaining lackeys.

John allowed himself a smile as Cameron let go of his arm once she deemed them safe and he outpaced her stride towards the front door. The shattered glass that had allowed the cultists entrance to the building still lay all over the tile of the lobby. John could see the battered family sedan they had used just thirty feet beyond.

Until the massive form loomed up in front of the door to block their view of the parking lot. Huge and imposing, covered in leathers, and clutching a Remington shotgun in one hand, it stared at John and Cameron before stepping into the lobby through the broken doorframe.

Its face was that of a square jawed man, identical to that of a T-800 that had been sent to protect John when he was only thirteen years old. Sunglasses hid its eyes and its expression hinted at nothing. A death mask carved from flesh.

"John Connor," it intoned with a thickly accented voice, shotgun rising.

Cameron shouldered John aside as the lobby echoed with the booming voice of thunder.


	6. Chapter 6

**Emergence, Chapter 6**

John hit the ground hard and tumbled across the floor. Blood filled his mouth as he bit down on his tongue from the jarring shock of dropping onto the hard tile. Thunder echoed in his ears from the sound of the shotgun blast.

Buckshot tore muscle and flesh clean away, revealing the metal beneath, as Cameron staggered from the blast into her side. Ragged strips of skin hung from her arm as blood slid in slick rivulets down her arm. She dropped to one knee, hands braced against the floor as she stared up at the T-800 that towered above her.

_Clack! Shunk!_

Death swiveled towards where John lay sprawled across the ground. He watched as the T-800 racked the shotgun and brought it back up to bear. John tensed and waited for the inevitable blast that would rip through his body.

It never came. The gun was not pointed at John, but at Cameron, as she surged to her feet. Both of her hands wrapped around the barrel of the gun and forced it up towards the ceiling. It fired into the air as the machine's aim was spoiled. Cameron pulled one hand back from the barrel and slammed her knuckles into the center of the weapon. The shotgun disintegrated under the power of the blow. Broken parts and unused shells clattered as they fell.

"Run, John." Cameron's tone was calm as ever.

The T-800 slammed its forehead into hers with enough power to drive her backwards and send her toppling onto her back. Tiles cracked underneath her as she bounced after landing. Stepping forward to follow her, the Terminator grabbed hold of one of Cameron's ankles. Massive fingers wrapped completely around the smaller machine's leg before it pivoted and flung her towards the wall with a quick release.

Cameron flipped and spun through the air before slamming hard into the sheetrock. The wall buckled – held – and she slumped to the ground. Fingers twitched and grasped for purchase on the wall to try to pull herself up. Slow -- too slow -- with the T-800 turning to stalk after her.

John watched the machine's slow, deliberate movements. His mind raced for something. Some plan. Some design or decision that would distract or disable the machine, because once it was done with Cameron, it would come for him. What would the great military leader do? In the end, all he could think of was --

"Get away from her!"

John pulled the Beretta from his belt and opened a full salvo into the machine. Bullets hammered into its torso as John fired again and again. The T-800 turned to stare at him for a long moment, ignoring the blows inflicted by the 9mm bullets. One careened off the machine's face, leaving a long streak of chrome on one cheekbone. The slide of the Beretta slammed back and stayed there; the clip was empty.

He should be running. John knew that. Cameron had told him to go already. Every bit of training his mother had ever instilled him was screaming at him to leg it. It told him that Cameron was expendable and whether she defeated the machine or not was irrelevant. Just a soldier doing her duty so John Connor, mankind's savior could live.

Expendable. Just a machine.

_No!_ he screamed silently inside. _No to that shit! I won't feed the beast. I'm not that asshole._

"Come after me! I'm John Connor!" Desperation filled his voice as he tossed the empty gun aside.

The T-800's head swiveled so that it could gaze at John. Broken mirrored glasses hung from its face. "I know."

A boot slammed hard into the Terminator's midsection as it turned away from John's distraction. It staggered back from where Cameron now stood. She rushed forward, under the larger machine's arms, and slammed her open palms hard into its chest. The T-800 smashed into the badly damaged wall and plowed straight through and into the room beyond. Pieces of metal and sheetrock rained down behind it.

Cameron spared a glance for her charge. "John, you need to run."

"I'm not leaving you."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Cameron's lips before she strode through the shattered wall. She swung her arms wide to knock dangling debris out of her way and then vanished into the unlit darkness beyond. Sounds of a heavy impact echoed in her passage.

John searched through the room looking for something, anything, that might end up helping. Did the building still have power? He found a light switch and flicked it up and down. Nothing happened. There would be no working electrical conduit to override the safeties on the T-800's chip then.

Hands patted at his pockets. A short pocketknife resided in one and his cellphone in the other. John pulled it free and turned it back on. It flashed to life and the LCD displayed _You have 12 messages. _He pressed a button to bring up the recent call history and each of the last twelve calls showed to be from his mother's or Derek's cellphones. As he selected his mother's number and pressed the send button, he pushed the phone up against his ear.

It rang once and then; _"John!?"_

"Jesus, mom! Please, get here fast. I… uh, we… there's a terminator here. We're at…"

The entire building shook with the sounds of destruction coming from deep within it. Again and again they sounded, so loud that John could not hear his mother's voice from the phone. It sounded far away and muffled. Squares of tiles tilted and fell from the ceiling. One hit him hard in the arm and the phone tumbled away and to the floor as his grip went slack from the impact.

Part of the blank wall exploded as Cameron crashed through it and skidded hard along the tile. Chrome gleamed on her brow and cheekbone, striking sparks along the ground while she ground to a halt. She lay on the floor, face pressed against the tile, unmoving.

John scrambled to the Cameron and grabbed hold of her shoulder and pulled at it. "Get up. C'mon, Cam… please, please get up."

Her movements were sluggish and jerky as she turned over. Eyes blinked rapidly as her head came up and she looked at the shattered wall.

The T-800 emerged from the hole it had just created. It stared at them both impassively before reaching into the ruins of the wall and ripping free a steel rod with the sound of protesting metal as it sheered free of its mooring. The rod was some sort of support, square in shape, with a jagged point on one end from being wrenched free.

"It is physically stronger than I am, John." Her voice was a whisper. "Please run."

Somewhere, barely heard and unacknowledged was a small tinny voice coming from the speaker of a forgotten cellphone. _"John? John?! JOHN!"_

One hand pushed hard on his chest, shoving John away from her. Cameron rose to her feet so she could meet the approach of the Terminator. Her head twitched to each side as she adjusted her position to stand between the T-800 and John.

The Terminator took the rod in both hands and swung it. The steel whistled as it impacted into Cameron's forearms, which she brought up to shield her head from the blow. Again and again it swung, slamming the steel into Cameron. Flesh from her arms disintegrated under the attacks, leaving the armored plating beneath bare.

John stumbled backwards as the tip came within inches of his head. Wind whipped through his hair as it whistled past him. Tile came up to meet him as his balance gave way and he ended up on the floor.

The T-800 stepped forward and switched the grip on the length of steel. It swung hard and low and swept Cameron's legs out from under her. The Terminator planted one boot on Cameron's chest and forced her flat against the ground.

John could only scream Cameron's name as the T-800 took the steel rod in hand like a spear and rammed it through her midsection, stapling it through her and embedding it into the concrete foundation beneath the tiled floor. A sound like white noise came from Cameron's mouth as her back arched and fingers dug into the tile.

"No!" John launched himself off the floor and at the Terminator. He swung his fists at it and beat on its shoulder and back.

It ignored him as it pulled a large pocket knife from one of its pockets and knelt down. It kept its knees on Cameron's shoulders and grabbed her jaw with one hand. The blade of the knife began to dig into her scalp. She struggled beneath him, but had been perfectly pinned.

"Let her go, you son of a bitch!" John yelled at it even as he stopped hitting it. His hands were getting sore.

"Negative. My orders are very specific."

John almost sneered at the machine. "What orders?"

"That she be destroyed."

"Her? Wait… why her? I'm your target."

The Terminator looked up at him and met John's gaze. "Because of what she becomes. That is why."

Even with him only feet away, right in its sights, the T-800 had made no move to harm him. When swinging the rod back and forth, it could have taken his head off with a slight change in its targeting. It had not.

John ventured a question, "And who gave you this target?"

"You."

* * *

"John? John!? JOHN!"

Sarah screamed into the cell phone as the line went dead. The display proclaimed 'Call Lost – Redial?' as she stared at it. She stuffed the device away into a pocket of her jacket and then looked at Derek, who stood next to her. Nothing was said. Nothing had to be.

They both sprinted across the CyberDyne parking lot, clutching their weapons tightly. Derek held the pistol gripped SPAS-12 shotgun and Sarah held the loaded M-79 'Thumper'. A black pickup and a late model family sedan were the only vehicles in the parking lot other than Sarah's Jeep. Both stood empty and silent.

Breath came in quick gasps as they sprinted up to the doors and each took the opposite side of the shattered frames. They pressed their backs against the walls. Derek glanced inside then held up three fingers. Then two, counting down. Then one.

He vanished through the shattered door frame and Sarah followed right behind. Her heart raced as she hoped against hope that they were not too late for John's sake. For the world's sake.

Across the large lobby from where they entered, the Terminator hunched over Cameron, a pole driven trough her abdomen and into the ground. It dug into the flesh of her scalp with a long bladed knife while John screamed at it. In every way it was just as she remembered. Huge, square jawed, covered in leathers, and utterly terrifying in its inhumanity. No excess motion. A face without empathy or feeling.

Derek raced across the room and grabbed John's shirt and pulled him away with one hand before extending the shotgun and pressing the muzzle against the distracted T-800's temple.

"Hasta la vista, motherfucker."

_BOOM!_

At point blank range, every bit of the shotgun's power was transferred directly into the skull of the Terminator. It jerked away from the blast and then rolled off to one side before sprawling out along the floor. Flesh and blood sprayed outwards and away from it, leaving much of one side of its head as bared chrome.

Cameron grasped at the rod that held her to the ground and pulled up on it, both hands wrapped around it. It wavered and then the damaged concrete beneath her gave, letting her slide over a foot of steel out of her stomach. She scrambled to her feet, grabbed John by the arm and drug him out through the open front door.

Sarah raised the grenade launcher up to her shoulder and sighted down the barrel at the machine on the floor. Once Derek was clear she would have a clean shot. Just a few more moments…

Derek backed away quickly from the machine, pumping the shotgun and firing again at the prone form as it started to rise, knocking it flat once more. "Kill it!"

"I was sent to prot – " The Terminator began to speak.

_Thwump!_

A high explosive grenade slammed into the machine's midsection and detonated. It tore apart the T-800 in a deafening explosion that sent shrapnel in every which direction. Legs and pelvis disintegrated as the armored upper torso forced the explosion down along the body. The upper body slammed into the ceiling and dropped again to the floor, one arm missing.

Eyes flashed red as a face almost completely stripped of skin stared at Sarah. The fingers of its remaining hand scrabbled along the tile as it tried to pull itself along towards her. It made a strange crackling sound. Words improperly formed came from its throat.

"John …nor… tect… terminate… seven … five…." it warbled.

Sarah popped open the Thumper and turned it upside down so that the spent grenade would drop out of it. She pulled a second from her jacket pocket and pushed it in. The grenade launcher snapped closed and she brought it up to aim again.

No quippy remark. No anything as she brought the weapon up. Just aim, squeeze, and… _fire!_

What remained of the Terminator disintegrated with the grenade's explosion. Parts scattered themselves across the lobby and embedded themselves into the walls. Nothing recognizable remained of what had once been one of Skynet's killing machines. Bits of flesh remained wrapped around some of the struts and bits of debris in the room.

The lobby smelled faintly of bacon. A sour sensation crept into Sarah's stomach as it filled her nostrils. She retreated from the lobby and back to the parking lot, where Cameron and John had retreated to. Derek fell in step behind her after one last glance at the machine's remains.

They stood near the sedan, staring at each other. John's entire body seemed to be folded in on himself as he had wrapped his arms around his chest and hugged tightly. His eyes were wide and watery.

"…don't know. I… wouldn't. I'm sorry. Please believe me."

"I do not know what to believe, John." the Terminator asked. Chrome gleamed along the brow and cheekbone of one side of her face. Flesh from her forearms and one shoulder hung in ragged strips from the alloy bones beneath.

John looked away, unable to look Cameron in the eye. He scuffed at the ground with the toe of one shoe.

"It's dead," said Sarah as she drew closer. She still gripped the grenade launcher tightly. "And you sure as hell better be sorry, John. Do you know what you've done?"

Her son shook his head and refused to look up at her.

Sarah slung the grenade launcher over one shoulder and then stepped up to John and grabbed his head and both hands. He struggled against her, but she pushed turned him so that she could look into his eyes.

"Do you know how many people are dead today because of what you've done?"

"Some hundreds," said Cameron bluntly.

Sarah glared at the machine. "Shut. Up."

Cameron's teeth clacked together audibly and she fell silent.

"I know. Ok? I fucked up. Fucked up hard. Is that what you want to hear?" John pulled away from her grip. His gaze shot quickly to Derek and then Cameron. Neither offered him anything. Not a word or a look of sympathy.

"It's not about what I want, John. God _fucking_ damn it! You killed people today. You and no other. People with lives and feelings and families and dreams and you stole those from them as sure as SkyNet itself would." Sarah spat venom with her words at John. Every muscle tensed with the desire to slap him until his teeth fell out, but she held that part back. "This wasn't a command decision for you to run off and make. You had no right to do any of this, but you did anyways. And your fuckup was catastrophic. Why, John? Why the hell did you think that you could do this?"

John shrunk away from her. Fear mixed with shame as tears sprung fresh and drained down his cheeks. "I… I wasn't… I wanted to talk them out of it. I tried… pleaded with him to stop. He said that I was just a symbol he was using… that he knew… knew my father and where to find him. That he'd hurt him if I didn't tell him where next to go. So…"

"Your father?" Derek asked. "Who did you talk to? Who's in charge of these whackos?"

"Kyle?" Sarah asked in a whisper quiet voice. A lump forced its way into her throat. _How could anyone hurt Kyle? Unless…_

"Silberman was. He helped them get out of Pescadero," said John.

Derek glanced at Sarah. "Did he know Ky—John's father?"

Sarah nodded just once. The world was falling away from her suddenly and she was forced to steady herself on the nearby car.

Color drained from Derek's face and he turned to sprint for the Jeep. He ignored Sarah as she called his name and jumped into the driver's seat. The door slammed shut as he turned the engine over. Tires squealed as Derek floored the gas and sent the car careening out into the street and away from the CyberDyne building.

"Do you know where he's going?"

John nodded. "I think so. But what about the Terminator? If we can recover the chip we can find out…"

"I blew its head apart, John. Nothing but scrap. Girly, you stay and sweep up the spare parts. Meet us back at home."

"I-I should stay… with Cameron." John's voice was almost a mumble.

Sarah affixed her son with a glare that could wilt hardened jungle fighters. "No, you don't get to sit here and mope. You are going to help fix this mistake and help us find Silberman. Real leaders – real _men_ – do that. Little boys sulk with their toys."

John ducked his head, face a deep red, before slipping into the passenger seat. Sarah dropped down into the driver's seat, started the car, and then floored it.

* * *

Catherine stared at the wide mirror that made up one wall of the room she waited in. Enough police movies had educated her to the fact that this was an interrogation room and that mirror was probably a one way window with police officers behind it. The walls of the rest of the room gleamed a bright, freshly painted white at her. She sat in one of the two the grey metal chairs that furnished the room and the bag with the Turk and her company's research notes sat on the table between them.

To her, it felt like an eternity was slowly trying to pass while she waited here 'for her own safety' as the LAPD cops had put it.

A blank line of paler than usual skin showed where her watch usually resided. She had taken it off early in the morning because it had been pinching her skin and she had never put it back on when the chaos set in. It was likely still there, on her desk, about six inches to the left of the monitor with her cell phone sitting beside it. Catherine stared at her wrist anyways, hoping it would reappear magically. Without a clock on the wall, she had no way to tell what time it was.

She slid out of the chair and walked up to the large mirror and rapped on it with a knuckle.

"Hello? Is anybody there?"

Her only response was the echo of her voice.

Catherine's hands went to her hips and she looked around the room for the hundredth time. Then down at the streaks of blood that still covered her legs and the running shoes she had borrowed from a programmer's desk.

She peered back into the mirror. "I've been quite patient with the lot of you. I'd like to talk to someone right now. Or my lawyer."

Again nothing.

"Or can I at least have something to drink? Glass of water perhaps?"

Catherine did not wait for the answer that would never come. A few steps took her over towards the door out of the interrogation room. The handle jerked up and down under her hand, but the door was deadbolted from the other side and refused to open. Before realizing what would happen, she slammed her fist into the door in frustration.

And instantly regretted it.

"Fook!" she screamed as she cradled her hand to her chest. It throbbed from the force of the blow into the unforgiving steel. "Bloody 'ell! Would wake the fook up and get their arse in 'ere 'afore I get the ACLU on yer arses!"

Nursing her sore knuckles between her lips, Catherine walked over to the steel table and threw herself back into a chair. She brooded in silence until an audible click came from the door. A man in a charcoal colored suit and tie slipped into the room with a briefcase dangling from one hand and a ziplock bag full of ice cubes in the other.

He offered Catherine the baggy full of ice. "For your hand."

She narrowed her eyes as she appraised the man. He was entirely unremarkable in every detail. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Rounded, clean shaven Caucasian features with just a bit of a tan. Average build and maybe five feet eleven inches in height. The most bland person that Catherine ever remembered seeing in her life. Everything about him screamed government employee.

"Thank you," she muttered as she swiped the bag and pressed it against her knuckles.

"Dreadfully sorry to keep you waiting so long." His accent was not placable. American something or other.

"You were watching me. How else would you know to bring ice?"

The man quirked a brief smile and then settled in the seat across from Catherine. He laid the briefcase out in front of him and clicked open the locks on it. It popped open and files were pulled out and placed in front of him.

"I take it the primary research of your company is in that bag?" He motioned to where the Turk sat in an athletic bag with one hand.

"I'm not at liberty to tell you anything about that. Who the hell are you?"

"Why, I represent your biggest – in fact only – client right now, Miss Weaver. The Department of Defense. I'm William Carver and I'm here to consult with you about the continuation of this project."

He flipped open the first of the files as he spoke and pulled out a multi-page document. A contract. As he placed it in front of Catherine, she could see it was _the _contract. A copy of it at least. The contract that she had signed with the government representatives when getting the financial backing that would pull her company out of debt and give it the operating capital it would need for years to come.

And she remembered every single opt-out clause that the government's lawyers had put in there.

"If you want to talk about our contract, you should wait until I can get our lawyers to..."

Carver held up a hand. "Your lawyers don't have top secret clearance. You do. We were very careful about handing that out and now what I have to say is only for you."

"We did everything the contract called for!" Catherine protested. She felt it coming. Everything she had striven for and worked for yanked out from under her by some officious nobody of a bureaucrat. "We had proper security according to what you required."

"You did. And the fact that you are here today – with our investment no less – is testimony to the fact that it was wise to require it of you. If you think I'm here to pull your funding, you're incorrect."

"What are you here for then?"

"The enemies of our nation are convinced that this is a threat to their well being. That makes us rather _more_ interested in it. So interested, in fact, that we're expanding the project."

Catherine stared at Carver blankly.

A lopsided grin slid onto his face. "Does the term 'unlimited budget' hold any meaning to you, Miss Weaver?"

"And what does that mean for my company? Specifically, I mean." Something forced Catherine to nod her head and her ability to speak finally caught up to the conversation again

"We relocate your work to a secure site. There will be additional oversight, of course, but your budget will be the coffers of the US government. Everything will be upgraded to Top Secret clearance. There will be a revised contract, of course."

"What exactly will we be working on?"

"Well, the current administration is very interested in the application of this technology to defense strategies. With the addition of Poland to the missile defense agreement, a wider and more powerful network is needed. That's where you will come in. You will be working with teams of government employees who are already pushing the current technology. We need a team with new ideas and that can push the envelope beyond what we have now."

"Yes. Yes, of course. I mean… I'm honestly surprised at this offer."

"We're very happy with the first results and reports you've given us." Carver stood and offered his hand across the table to Catherine.

After everything that had happened so far this day, to be sitting across from this man and be given the keys to the kingdom in regards to budget and money making ability seemed surreal. True next-generation ideas that could be given the funding needed to grow beyond what any little startup could ever hope to be. With what she had already, there would be nothing in the world that could stand in the way of progress and achievement.

She had survived hell itself to get to this point. And she was not going to let it slip away.

Dropping the ice onto the table, she stood and took Carver's hand. "I look forward to it, Mister Carver."

"Welcome to Project Babylon, Miss Weaver."

* * *

The world outside the Jeep whipped past unacknowledged and ignored as Derek pushed the vehicle's engine to the limits of what it could do. Distance felt like it stretched to unimaginable lengths as the clock in the dash slowly clicked the minutes away. He wanted – no, needed – to be there _right now_. To run home and find that Kyle was safe and sound and without a hair out of place.

Derek did not know if the threat posed to his brother had been real or not. He could not take that chance. Not when his brother was possibly in danger. That Kyle was the father of mankind's best hope was a distant thought. The only thing that floated again and again in Derek's mind was…

_Kyle… _

He would not fail this time. Derek promised that to himself. No, he would find whoever it was that wanted to hurt his brother. Find them and do whatever it took to stop them.

It had been so long since he had felt this strongly. Not since laying dying on the kitchen table in a house long abandoned. Then it had been different, with half remembered hallucinations and John's face seeming to twist from child to general with each blink of his eyelids.

Then came the explosion on the front lawn and battles and war with Skynet's minions and then came the time when he could no longer hide from what he had done. Fixing the mistakes did not matter anymore. What had happened and what he had betrayed came back to life. Yet John had forgiven him. No anger, no guilt. No rubbing it in or pushing him away.

That had been where Sarah had picked up the slack. Every single time he tried to talk to her, they ended up screaming at each other. Some snide comment. Something that pushed his buttons just the right way. Like how she seemed to think she was some authority on his brother or how she constantly preached about doing things the 'right way'. The right way was whatever worked and Derek knew that already. She treated the metal with more respect and he was supposed to be family!

So he had retreated into himself. Go from point A to point B. Follow orders and follow the rules. Be a good little soldier and do what was needed and what was necessary and when he had no mission he would sit in his room and watch the little television John had jury-rigged from a salvage yard and smile at the cartoons that had once been Kyle's favorites. Tom and Jerry had never failed to make Kyle giggle his head off.

He only stuck around because he knew that this was the best way to insure that Kyle saw a future without the machines. Derek himself did not matter anymore. He had been judged already and sent to hell. The little boy tossing baseballs in the park did not deserve that.

Derek knew he should have waited for Sarah and John and the piece of walking scrap. This was his brother. His blood.

And, by God, he was going to save Kyle.

Tires squealed as he took a turn far too quickly and nearly jumped the curb as he came around into the suburban neighborhood where he had lived as a young boy. Derek tried to think as he drove towards the park. Had they been there today? It was Wednesday, right? School day and still morning. The brothers Reese would not be home yet.

That should give him time. He could check the neighborhood and then check the school. Make sure nothing was out of place and there were no insane strangers lurking about. Well, only him.

Derek dropped the Jeep into a lower gear and settled back in the seat as he began to cruise around the neighborhood. He watched the cars and the few pedestrians come and go. Miss Harrigan from down the street was jogging her usual route.

_She always had the biggest… shit!_

An old Chevy van passed him as it sped down the street. The paint on it was battered and chipped and it had 'St. Mark's Christian Ministries' painted on the sides and back in fading black letters next to equally faded crosses. When it shifted lanes to pass the Jeep, Derek could see the stock of a shotgun held in the passenger's hands. A silver haired man in black with a Roman collar drove the van.

_Insane cultists. People who think John is the savior. This has to be them, _he thought. _I can't let them get any closer._

The accelerator dipped towards the floor as Derek kept pace with the van, trying to get the front end of his Jeep side by side with the van. With the engine whining in protest, he got the bumpers of both vehicles in line. Gears ground together as he shifted up to the next set and the Jeep lurched forward until the front wheel of the Jeep and the back wheel of the van were in line.

He swung the wheel hard to his left and both automobiles ground into each other. Sparks flew up from between them as the fender of the Jeep began to tear apart. Derek punched the gas as hard as he could, pedal slamming into the floorboard, and the Jeep shuddered as it pushed harder into the van. Squealing rubber burned along the pavement as the van began to twist and jack knife from the impact into its rear.

A shotgun poked out from the passenger window and thunder echoed as it fired towards Derek. The front windshield disintegrated from the inaccurate fire and glass rained in on Derek. Part of the passenger seat exploded as buckshot tore into it and tufts of stuffing floated through the cab.

Derek kept pulling left on the steering wheel, leaning down and trying to get as much of his body behind the dashboard as he could fit. The van in front of him continued to spin until it had turned completely around. It lurched out of control and then hit the curb in front of one of the many homes of the neighborhood. Tires exploded from the impact and the entire vehicle lurched before tilting over.

The hollow boom that sounded as the machine toppled and landed in someone's front lawn was deafening. It laid unmoving, tires slowly spinning down, with shattered glass and torn rubber laying around it in a halo.

It took far longer than Derek wanted for the Jeep to screech to a halt. He had no idea how fast he had been going near the end, and ended up almost fifty feet beyond the van. Derek hopped out and pulled his shotgun out from between the front seats before turning to stalk towards where the cultists had crashed.

Derek circled around what had once been the bottom of the van, the drive train and transmission now exposed to the world. He brought the shotgun up to his shoulder as he neared the front bumper. Rounding it he saw the passenger pulling himself to his feet. The man still held a shotgun in one hand and looked dazed with a shattered nose and blood dripped into a matted blonde beard.

One shot turned the man's head into an explosion of gore.

The shotgun made a loud clacking sound as Derek racked it and aimed up at the sound of the side door of the van – now the roof's door – slid back. Two cultists pulled themselves out and onto the top of the van. Neither looked hurt or bloodied from the crash and one of them drew a long knife from his belt. Derek fired and sent the knife wielder hurtling backwards and into door he had come out of.

Derek racked the shotgun again. The click-clicking noise it made sounded strange to him and he stared down at it. A spent shell stuck halfway out of the ejection port. Again and again he tried to rack it properly and the shell refused to come loose.

"Fuck!" he shouted.

He nearly missed dodging the knife blade of the remaining cultist. It whistled past his chin and he danced back and out of its way. Instinct more than conscious decision.

The cultist licked his lips and gave him a gap toothed grin. Latino features were framed by lanky brown hair. His frame was whipcord thin and draped with dirty hospital garb. The blade he carried was a rust pitted steak knife. Short and vicious looking, like its wielder.

Two quick swipes with the blade in front of him forced Derek back again and again. He turned the shotgun around as he moved, gripping it by the barrel. Derek waited for a third swing, and when it came, he dodged back and then lunged forward with a hard, two handed swing of the shotgun. Just like a baseball bat.

It slammed right into the cultist's temple and its wooden stock shattered with the impact. Splinters and spikes of wood tore through the man's face and he dropped to the ground screaming and howling. Fingers pulled and scrabbled at shards protruding from his skin.

Without a word, Derek stood over him and used both hands to bring the remaining part of the shotgun down on the cultist's head. And again. And again. Until well after the bones had collapsed under the assault and the tissues and fluids beneath had been left oozing away into the gutter.

His breathing came in rapid gasps from the exertion and the adrenaline that pumped through his body. Derek stared at what remained of the shotgun. Its frame had been bent by the force of the blows and blood drained down its length. He dropped it to the ground between the two corpses that lay outside the van.

Derek looked around. There had been another. The man in the preacher's outfit. Silberman, probably. The man behind all this. Everyone else that had been in the street had fled, but there was a dark suited form sprinting towards the park. The one he used to play in with Kyle nearly every day.

This was a nice neighborhood. Cops would not be far behind after what he had just done, so he had little time.

He drew the pistol he kept under his jacket and sprinted after Silberman.


	7. Chapter 7

**Emergence, Chapter 7**

Silence.

The rasping of breath was the only sound in all the world to Cheri Westin. Huddled away in the room that John had left her and all her dreams in. No father, no family, no John, and nothing left for her.

Even as the building had shuddered and threatened to fall apart around her, ceiling tiles raining down on the rancid carpet, Cheri had not moved. Had barely breathed. All she wanted to do was to cease to be. And then she would see her father again.

Because she knew she was going where he was now.

Straight to Hell.

Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Instead see the horror in the eyes of the man who you loved. Horror as he realized what you were. What you had become. And then lose him forever.

She pushed herself to her feet and staggered once before catching her balance. The stench of days on the run and the gore of her own victims clung to her. Bile climbed into her throat and she gagged it down as she finally felt it filling her nostrils. The body odor of a couple hundred escapees no longer lingered nearby to mask it.

So dirty. Would it ever come out?

Cheri stumbled out of the old conference room and out amongst the piles of trash and blankets that took up the room that had once been a cubicle farm for office workers. A path had been laid out more by instinct than intention amongst the piles towards a pair of restrooms. One for men, one for women.

Cheri burst through the door and into the ladies' restroom. Fluorescent lights flickered and reflected from the mirrors over the sink and the chrome hinges of the stall doors. She found herself doubled over one of the sinks, water flowing in front of her.

Ice raced over her flesh as Cheri pushed her hands under the water. Thick black lines had been etched under her fingernails. Was that blood?

_Out, out damn spot._

Sophomore English class had been all about studying Macbeth. Mrs. Meyers had forced Cheri to memorize that whole speech by Lady Macbeth. Funny how she remembered things like that. Random things. Maybe that was part of being crazy.

That was term, right? Sent to Pescadero. Part of a cult run by another inmate. If you sat and thought about it, it was in fact insane. And here she was trying to erase her sins in a washbasin after being rejected by a man who was supposed to be a new messiah.

John had been right to reject her. She was unclean. Dirty.

He should not soil himself by touching her.

Cheri cupped water from the faucet and splashed it over her face and then ran damp hands through her hair to push it back and out of her eyes. Water continued to rush down and into the drain as she walked out of the bathroom, forgetting to shut off the faucet.

She walked towards the lobby, where the sounds of gunfire and explosions had come from. Maybe there would be something there that would kill her. Cheri knew she would screw it up if she did it herself.

But a Terminator?

It was the one perfect thing that they were made for. She would die and it would be at the hands of one of the Devil's constructs.

Two men lay still and unconscious in front of the door leading to the lobby. Cheri stepped over them and walked slowly down the hallway towards the front of the building. Broken tile and metal shrapnel crunched beneath her sneakers as she came around the corner.

And she stopped and stared.

_What am I looking at? _

A machine – a machine! – knelt on the shattered tile of the lobby. John's sister, guardian, and apostle. The Paul to his Jesus. Cameron apparently had gathered parts and pieces of what could only be another of her kind together in a pile before her. A silver skull, shattered and split down the middle, sat on top of the mass of metal bones.

Cheri's steps were hesitant as she approached. Why was she so scared of it when she wanted it to kill her so badly? Something was in the Terminator's hands and Cheri felt the need to see it.

Cameron cupped a shattered computer chip in her hands. Multiple pieces of broken gold and silica rested on the flesh of her palms. Perfect hands that gave way to torn flesh all along her arms to reveal blood streaked chrome. She looked up at Cheri, showing the blood leaking down from her scalp.

Silence.

Breath came in quick gasps from only one of them. The machine remained utterly silent. Cheri hid her hands in her sleeves as she crossed her arms under her breasts and hugged herself tightly.

"Kill me," whispered the girl.

One hand vanished into a thigh pocket as Cameron slid the broken chip away before pushing herself to her feet smoothly. As she stood, Cheri could see the hole that had been bored clean through her stomach, slightly off center.

"You want to die?" Cameron tilted her head as she spoke.

"Yes."

The machine approached her, movements slow and purposeful. She moved with an odd gait, back stiff and inflexible. "Why?

"I-I have nothing. No more family or friends and…"

"No John."

"Yeah," said Cheri. "No John."

Cameron nodded, as if in understanding. "You will never see him again. You understand that, don't you?"

Cheri could only bring herself to nod as she worried one lip between her teeth.

Warm fingers slid around her neck as the machine brought one hand up pushed her back against one of the walls. There was no pressure, though. The machine only held her in place. Cameron's nose was only an inch or so from Cheri's as those deep brown eyes stared into her own.

"I could snap your neck. It would be quick and relatively painless."

"Yes. Like that, please."

"John would ask me to stop. Plead with me for your life," said Cameron, a gentle tone settling into her voice. "He would not want you to die."

Tears streaked down Cheri's cheeks. "I know. He's… good and kind and so much better than I am. He would never want someone he loves to be hurt. But he… he…"

"…doesn't love you. It would not matter. He would do it anyways."

"He would for anyone, I think." Cheri gave a faint smile through her tears.

The hand around Cheri's neck withdrew and Cameron took a step back.

"Do you love him?"

"I-I think I do," said Cheri.

"Then you will understand why I am not going to kill you. You should go."

Cheri sunk to the floor and stared at the machine. At the robot. At the girl in front of her. Disbelief forced a sob up and out of her. All she had wanted was for it to do what it did best. Kill.

Why would it not do that? And what did it mean?

Unless the machine… the girl with metal bones shining in the early morning light that shone into the battered and broken lobby… could possibly ever…

That was crazy. Well, so was Cheri, so she could entertain that thought.

So, Cheri voiced what she was thinking. "Do you love him?"

"You should go," Cameron repeated as she turned to the pile of shattered parts and began to collect them into her arms.

* * *

His heart beat to the pounding rhythm of footfalls against pavement. Sight narrowed into a tunnel that shook and slew back and forth as he moved. Only one thing, one goal, remained unobscured before him.

Silberman.

Derek Reese pursued the silver haired preacher through the maze of trees and park benches. The old man kept ducking out of sight and around corners. He was smart, but he was not fast and Derek was catching up.

There was no question what would happen when Derek caught up to the insane priest. He felt nothing as he chased. No pity for the insanity that surely drove Silberman to this point. No mercy to let him go once caught. Not even the fear that drove him to follow Silberman this far, the fear of Kyle being found and hurt.

It was only a matter of time. Inevitability itself rushed after Silberman, not just a soldier of the resistance. Now, only the driving need to complete his goal, his mission, drove Reese ever onwards.

* * *

"You hid this from me."

There was no question to Sarah Connor's words and her tone was as harsh as a lash. She kept her eyes forward as she spoke, trying to avoid the inevitable accident as tires squealed along pavement in their pursuit of John's uncle.

John had laid out everything in front of her while they drove. The day in the park, how he had seen Kyle. The man she had loved had been so close to her again, and held so far away by a secret. A lie. And now Silberman, of all people, had put two and two together and had menaced John on a level even Skynet had not figured out. By threatening a young boy who was still learning to throw a baseball.

"Yes," came John's whispered reply. "It wasn't for you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, John? It's your father! It's the one man… the first and… the most…"

She struggled through the words. Ribs threatened to crush her heart in a vise as she tried to force her feelings into the shape of something she could give voice to. Instead, she settled for a quick glare at John before turning to watch the road again.

John huddled himself backwards into the passenger's seat of the stolen car. He stared at anything other than his mother, arms folded tightly over his chest, but said nothing in response.

"…I only had two days with him, John. You thought this was something you should hide from me?"

"That was two days more than I ever got!"

The venom in John's voice made Sarah want to slap him… and to weep at the same time. For two days it had been Kyle's strength and his determination that had kept her alive. Against all odds, even when it seemed the machine had won. And Sarah had always been able to fall back on that. It was solid – tangible – and so very, very real for her.

And John only had stories. Imperfectly told and no more real than Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.

It was no wonder he had kept it a secret. That was _his_ little bit of his father. Something no one would be able to take away. Even if it had been a little glimpse and the briefest of gazes with a baseball between them.

Sarah changed the subject. "How much further?"

"A-around the next corner, I think."

The car's tires nearly crested the curb as Sarah spun the wheel hard and pointed the car down the residential street. She pumped the brake to keep from fishtailing and then accelerated into the straightaway. Houses lined the street, which stood strangely empty. Unattended mowers and water hoses littered yards, left there by their owners as they fled from the violence outside their homes.

Derek's Jeep lay crushed against undercarriage of a van tilted onto its side, smoke drifting lazily from its engine compartment. Sarah slowed the car as they passed the wreckage. Two bodies lay splayed out next to it, both heads pulped from the violence that ended their lives. Neither appeared to be Derek.

Sarah turned to stare at the corpses as they passed. Expression narrowed with the rage gnawing at her heart. A mad dog had slipped its leash in this neighborhood, and its name was Reese.

John slid down further into his seat, as if trying to curl and and hide from the world. His features sagged with the sorrow of still more death, and his shoulders slumped with the weight of it all. One look told Sarah how much he now blamed himself for everything that had happened.

The car rolled past the scene of murder and beyond stood a line of trees with a small gravel parking lot. A wooden sign with curly-q'd white lettering that read "Stanley Winston Memorial Park" stood next to the gravel lot.

"There!" said John.

Sarah stomped down on the gas and the car lurched as it accelerated once more.

* * *

Reese's quarry eluded him.

Silberman had doubled back after nearly stumbling out into the flat, grassy part of the park where Derek and Kyle had tossed baseballs a lifetime ago. A different life entirely, in fact.

The prey would have been isolated and easily taken out there. Recognizing that, the preacher ducked back in between the trees and the jogging trails and made his way back towards the road. The old man's breath came in ragged gasps, loud enough to be heard, and he had slowed a step.

And Reese was almost on top of him.

The gun bucked in Reese's hand and bark exploded from a tree as Silberman ducked behind it. Again and again it echoed its bark as bullets tore through the trees that protected the priest as he ran. None were wasted as they forced the quarry's options down into smaller and smaller choices.

To the left and to the right of Silberman, death whipped past him. He could only move forward towards the parking lot and the open daylight.

Where nothing would stand between him and Reese.

* * *

Metal crumpling echoed even over the sound of tires screeching across gravel as Sarah slammed the brake pedal down flat against the floorboard. Something – no, some_one_ – had come out of nowhere. Right in front of the sedan.

The dark clothed figure had been up-ended and tossed over the hood, smashing hard into the windshield. Spiderwebs raced out from the impact as the glass bulged inwards. It fell limp and unmoving on the car's hood.

"Fuck." John's curse was a whisper as he stared through the ruined glass at the bloody silver hair and face of Peter Silberman.

"John. John, get out of the car."

He felt nothing as he stared at Silberman's face, features slack and lined with red. The preacher's eyes were closed and blood bubbled out from his lips as he breathed. Was he dying? Was death right there in front of John?

It had been so sudden. Shocking. And now there seemed to be a peace to it.

And then violence as John's mother clutched his arm and shook him. "Get out of the damn car!"

"Yeah, sorry, just…"

Just what? He had no answer. He pulled himself quickly from the car and stepped towards where Silberman lay on the hood. Sarah stood by Silberman's feet, on the other side of the car.

Two fingers together, just like he had been taught. He checked the carotid artery and Silberman's pulse remained strong and steady. A quick check and John knew that one leg was broken, and maybe some ribs from the moans that Silberman had given while prodding the man's torso.

A concussion most likely. John inspected the egg sized knot already growing beneath the blood matted hair. Definitely a concussion.

"Will he live?"

John looked up at the voice. Derek, not Sarah, was speaking. He had been so busy checking Silberman, his uncle's approach had escaped him. He blinked a couple times before glancing at the pistol dangling from Derek's hand.

"Yeah," said John.

Derek smirked as he approached the car. "Shame, that."

"You're crazy, Reese," snapped Sarah. She gestured back up the street. "There were two dead men back there…"

"—three actually," said Derek. He tilted his head and inspected the priest's form.

"We should leave him for the cops. He'll be out for a while," said John hopefully.

It was the best idea he felt that had come to him all day. Do the right thing and all that. Be worthy of being called a savior. Deny Death this one time and maybe it would stop following him around like some particularly cruel puppy.

"Yeah." Derek drew the word out as indecision warred across his features. His gaze remained anchored on the unconscious body in front of him.

"Let's go. We'll grab a new car and let the police deal with Silberman." Sarah used the tone of voice that never brooked argument or dissent.

John had heard those commanding tones a million times. And, apparently, so had Derek.

He raised the pistol and put it firmly to the back of Silberman's head. The muzzle vanished beneath the lank, unkempt silver strands and the head shifted forward from the pressure of the metal.

_No, not another! _

John tried to scream for his uncle to just _Stop!_ but only a wordless sound echoed from his lips. He tried to find reason and mercy in his uncle's face, but it was empty. Blank. A death mask.

He lunged forward, trying to grab for the soldier's arm. His mother did too, reaching out to grab for Derek's coat. But the soldier was too fast.

Bang.

Just like that and there was no more Silberman. Just a stain of red running down the fender of the stolen car to vanish amidst the stone gravel beneath it.

"How could you!?" screamed Sarah as she slammed a fist into Derek's temple.

The soldier staggered, dazed, and Sarah's knee sent wind rushing out of him as it rammed into his stomach. Derek dropped to one knee, gun clattering to the ground. As he clutched at his midsection, it was John's foot that came up, right into his uncle's face, and sent him sprawling backwards against the rocks.

"Heh," was the answer as Derek lay back against the rocks. One hand reached up to wipe blood from his lips.

John loomed over his uncle. He wanted to curbstomp the bastard for what he had done. Beat him until he bled out just like Silberman was doing now. That had been an execution. Cold blooded and heartless. As bad as any held both hands up, balled into fists, and ready to bring them down if Derek tried to rise.

"We don't fucking murder people, you asshole!" John screamed the words at the top of his lungs.

"After what you've done, who are you to say that to me?"

John shrunk back. It felt like he had just taken the licks Derek had received. His stomach roiled and he bit back the bile in his throat so he would not throw up.

_No one, _was what he wanted to say to Derek. He had no right to say what he just had. He was as big of a bastard as his uncle. On a larger scale, even maybe. He had sent that terminator and he had doomed Silberman's men and the people at that company to death.

It was the police sirens in the distance that interrupted everything.

"We're leaving." Sarah's voice was whisper quiet and loud as thunder. "We'll talk. At home."

There were cars parked nearby, and not much time to get one hotwired.

* * *

"The mission has been successful to this date, I do not understand."

"_It's not your place to understand, Carter."_

Carter stared at himself in the mirror. The phone was set to speaker as he pulled silken thread through the edges of the wound along his jaw. Hours would pass before he had finished repairing himself and his epidermal layer of the amount of gunfire he had absorbed. Buckshot had begun to rattle around inside his torso with each step and that was not acceptable in his role as an infiltrator.

"I have no other mission currently. No purpose. I require a mission and my efficiency is uncompromised. She trusts me."

The last sentence was given almost as an afterthought. If the machine known as Wilson Carter actually had any sort of thing.

"_You are instructed to revert to default primary mission. Current primary mission is cancelled. Authorization nine-alpha-tango-four-seven-omega. Acknowledge."_

The argument ended at that point. Carter's missions rearranged themselves automatically and with a detached sense of purpose, he stated, "Acknowledged."

"_State current primary mission."_

"Find and terminate John Connor."

"_Good."_

* * *

Catherine Weaver pulled the thick, pink robe around her shoulders and then tied the cloth belt at the waist. It felt like she had been away forever, but now she was home and had been able to shower and get out of the blood stained clothing. Savannah, her daughter, was safely away school and she would have some time to herself.

Spending so much time in the shower had been wonderful. She fully planned on collapsing into her big, warm bed and sleeping for the rest of the day. The doorbell rang as she drifted towards it.

"Crap," she muttered.

It rang again as she made her way towards the stairs and she picked up the pace to a quick jog while descending towards the entry way. As she reached the front door, she peeked through a side window at the person on her porch. Once she was sure who it was, she pulled the door open.

"I thought we were done until the lawyers could get the final documents done," said Catherine to her visitor.

"Good," said William Carver into his cellphone before pressing a button on it and sliding it away into a pocket. He looked up at Catherine and smiled. "Just wanted to check one more thing. May I come in?"

Catherine scowled and then stepped out of the door. "Make it quick. I'm not dressed and I'm exhausted. I want to go to bed, Mister Carver."

"This won't take but a moment." The government representative slipped into the foyer and shut the door behind him.

"What is it?"

"Just this."

Carver's hand whipped out, faster than Catherine could pull away, and his fingertips slid over her jaw and down across her throat. They felt cold, with the damp feeling of ice sliding over skin, but no water trailed behind.

Catherine slapped at the hand. It did not move. "Mister Carver, that is not approp…"

Her words vanished as ripples slid through Carver's skin. Color bleached out of his form as it turned to the mirror of a sheet of mercury. The sound it made as it _shifted_ defied a real description. Like rebar being drawn through a hollow coffee can – only _not_. Once it finished changing, in Carver's place stood a perfect form with only the faintest humanoid shape. No flaws and no creases.

Catherine's brain felt numb. This was not possible. Nothing could do this. Not unless it was something from… beyond. Infernal or holy. And she had no clue which.

"W-what are you?"

Lips, then teeth reappeared in its features as the being smiled at her. Color crept back into it as it slimmed and narrowed into a feminine figure. Pale skin, red hair, and a long pink nightrobe hanging from its narrow shoulders.

"I'm you," it said in Catherine's voice.

"But… how?" asked the real Catherine.

It raised one hand, finger pointed towards the bridge of Catherine's nose. "Best not to think about that part."

Liquid metal expanded and filled Catherine's vision before her world went dark.

* * *

Derek sat in a deck chair in the back yard of the Connor's home. A beer stood balanced on one arm of the chair as he watched the sun make its slow crawl back down into the Pacific Ocean off in the distance. The water was hidden from view by miles of urban sprawl, but he knew it was there.

It was moments like this, he almost felt content. He could be empty. Filled with nothing and able to be separated from the world. Both the hell he had come from and this ephemeral illusion that played itself out in front of his nose. The thing he kept hoping he could make real for Kyle's sake.

He reached for the beer and his fingers had circled the bottle when he felt the cool metal against the side of his head.

"Sarah," he said.

"I should kill you." She pressed the gun against the head hard enough he could feel it digging into his scalp.

"Because I killed that man."

"Yes." A pause. "And the others."

"They don't matter. If I hadn't killed Silberman, we wouldn't be here. Now. Doing this."

"He wasn't a threat, but you killed him anyways."

"Maybe. Maybe he'd come back. Maybe he'd get away from the cops. Lotsa maybes. For once, I can say I don't know what the future was gonna be." He brought the beer up towards his lips.

The gun flashed forward and knock the beer from Derek's hands, sending it across the deck. Liquid splashed against redwood as the glass spun. Sarah pushed the muzzle back against his head. "Take this seriously, Derek."

"You have a gun to my head, of course I do. What do you want me to do? Get pissed off? Scream and yell so that I'm a monster and you can feel ok about shooting me? Not gonna happen. If you want to do it, you do it. Man up and admit you just want me dead and pull the fucking trigger."

The gun slid away and Sarah fell silent.

Derek turned so he could look up at her. At the rage and pain and confusion on her features. At all the things he wished he would never have to feel again. He pushed himself up off the chair and stared at her.

"I did it for John. For Kyle. To protect them both," said Derek.

"Everything you do involves death. Like one of…" She glanced into the house, through a window, at the machine pacing back and forth inside. "…_them._"

"Yeah, I know." The admission was quiet as he made it.

"Why?"

A bitter laugh came out. "Why? Why am I a murdering asshole? Because I don't matter, Sarah. I'm dead and gone. I was a long time ago. No one comes back from this. My name was on that list I told you about. Right below Kyle's. Right below yours. I've been to Hell. I'm going to be in Hell when this is done. Might as well commit the sins I'm guilty of along the way."

Sarah slid the safety catch back on the pistol and gripped it tightly in both hands. "So fuck anyone in your way, huh?"

"Damn right. Everything I have is to make sure those two Reese boys that are here now never see the Hell I was in. They get to be safe and sound and innocent forever. And John, too, I hoped. Until this. And that asshole took that from him. So he paid."

"Is that all you have left, Reese?"

Derek glanced away and then into the windows of the house. He watched as the machine stalked its way towards John's room. A walking lie. Covered in a pretty wrapping that kept John fawning over it. At least he could be honest, if nothing else.

"I have you two. John. You. You're all the family I've got. Those other Reeses are completely different people now."

A sneer crested Sarah's lips. "What makes you think you're welcome in this family anymore?"

"Because I'm the only thing you two have. We're lonely people, Sarah, buried in our own shit and how fucked up we all are. But we all understand each other more or less and we'd all go insane if we tried this shit alone."

"Some of us have already been there, Reese."

She seemed to slump. Emotional and physical exhaustion etched itself onto her features and in the way she held herself. The gun dangled down at her side, loose in her grip as her dark hair shadowed her face.

He reached for her then. Because she looked so beautiful and vulnerable all at once. Not the woman that gazed so defiantly out of the photograph his brother once carried, full of grim determination. And he wanted to say he was sorry and he would never do it again and beg her never to hate him.

Sarah slapped the hand away before it came too close and the stony mask returned to her features. A hard stare forced Derek back a step.

"You can stay," she said. "But no more of this. Not again. No one dies until I say so from this point. If you go off the reservation again, it'll be me you have to watch out for. Do you understand?"

He could only nod before she turned and walked away.

* * *

John stared at the sheet of paper on his desk. Eight point five inches wide and eleven inches tall. Blue lines marched up it from the bottom to the top, each one evenly spaced between two others. Three holes had been mechanically punched into the left hand side. He clutched a number two pencil that hovered over the pages.

He had wanted to write something. To give some meaning to everything he had seen and all the death that had surrounded him. The beast had fed well in the last two days and every bit of it was his fault. Men had been sacrificed like pawns to his desire.

It was wrong. He had known it was wrong at the time he had first given voice to the idea of it. Yet he had gone and done it anyways.

No one hated themselves more than John Connor. At least, that's how he felt it must be. Sometimes crying was not enough, so he had pulled out the paper and the pencil. A note, just like he had explained to Cameron might do it. Until he realized he had no idea what he wanted to write.

John wanted to make sure this did not happen again. That he never forgot what he was supposed to be. That these were people, not pawns. He could never become the machine that war wanted to make out of him, where lives were statistics and battles were events. Death became simply the loss of an asset in that world and not the destruction of one persons dreams and hopes and everything individual about them.

And so, John would remember. Remember each of them. Even if it was in a simple way. Put the face to their loss and it remains real. And if it is real, they will not be thrown away in vain. No one dies in vain. Not for John Connor.

KYLE REESE

Block letters now filled part of the first space between the blue lines on the page. That was the first name he knew, but it would not be the last one on this page. He prayed that very few would require the strokes of his pencil.

He folded the paper up careful, into as perfect and tight a square as he could, and then slid it away into his wallet. With that, he stood and made his way to the bed. Warm and soft and when wrapped in the blankets and comforter he always felt a false sense of safety.

He lay out flat across it on his belly and buried his face into the pillow and he willed the world away. It remained gone for a long while until he felt as much as heard Cameron glide into the room. Only the faintest creak of the floor told him where she was as she moved to stand next to the bed. He ignored her and kept his face buried in the pillow until she sat down next to him. Springs creaked and she reached out and touched one arm, her skin gently resting against his own.

"John," she said.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked at her. She wore clean clothes now and long sleeves to cover the bandages over her arms. Stitches and band-aids hid the damage to her face.

"Hey." He paused, then added, "'sup?"

Cameron held one hand out in front of her, fingers curled tightly together. One by one the fingers peeled away to reveal the broken chip in her palm. "It is destroyed."

"Yeah. Not surprised."

"The only thing I could tell is that the jumper had been removed. It is in learning mode."

John stared at the broken silicon and already knew what it meant. Moments from a lifetime ago in a garage, on the run from the T-1000, and what he had done to change another Terminator he had known. Because Skynet would not do that for them.

John took a deep breath and then exhaled before speaking. "So, I sent it."

"Yes."

"Cameron, I'm sor—"

"Cheri asked me to kill her." Cameron interrupted John with typical blunt force.

"Wh-what?"

Cameron tilted her head, regarding John curiously. "Why do humans want to die?"

"That's, um, a hard question to answer. Mainly, I guess, because they're sad. Because they lose any hope that things'll get better. There's a lot of reasons. It's a little different for each person, ya know?" John stared at his lap as he answered. "So, did you…?"

"No."

"What'd you do?"

"Let her go."

Derek had killed and Cameron had shown mercy. What sort of world was John in now? He stared at the terminator in confusion. Was this the start of what the T-800 had said? Because of what she becomes. That is why she must be destroyed. And he felt he absolutely had to know. He could not just throw her away like some bit of obsolete machinery. She was… was… he did not know what she was.

"Cameron, I-I'm not going to tell mom why it was really sent."

"They would insist I be destroyed if they knew my John no longer trusted me."

John nodded. "Yeah. Listen, I don't want to see you destroyed. That's not what I want. Maybe we, um, can figure out what might have caused that other one to be sent… together. Ya know?"

"I want to tell you something, John."

"Ok…" It was John's turn to tilt his head and regard the robot girl. He tried to search her wide brown eyes for any sort of meaning behind the statement.

"I will keep you safe, John. I always will. It is my mission."

"—and I appreciate that," interrupted John.

She placed one slim finger on his lips. Warm and gentle in its touch. "But I want you to know this. You told me the story of the one that protected you when you were younger. How he was destroyed to insure Skynet could not be built from his remains. If there comes a time that you, or your mother, or Derek Reese want to do the same to me…"

John pulled back and tried to give a reassuring smile. "Cameron, that won't…"

"… I won't let you."

He stared at her, stunned into silence as she pressed the broken chip into his hand. The world felt like it had tilted somehow. That things had changed beyond a scope that he could comprehend. It seemed to him that Cameron was telling him something beyond the obvious. He just did not understand it.

"This belongs to you," said Cameron before she stood to walk away, never looking back.

_Was this where it begins?_ John asked himself as the Terminator disappeared from view.

** **Epilogue** **

Dust stuck to everything. That's the way it always was in the Mexican desert. It was not where Cheri Westin had wanted to start over, but sometimes the greatest things came from the humblest beginnings.

Look at Jesus and John Connor.

She stood in her simple peasant's garb in the old army surplus tent. Wooden benches, salvaged out of a decaying church, had been arrayed in rows in front of her. A battered bible nestled against her chest underneath her crossed arms.

At least her good grades in high school Spanish had helped. Getting better every day, they said.

A dozen Mexicans of Indian descent stared up at her with wide eyes from the benches.

Humble beginnings, Cheri. Humble beginnings.

In her halting Spanish, she began, "The savior has returned to us, and I have seen his perfection…"


End file.
